That Dancehall Delusion
by ALittleWhitLost
Summary: In which Demyx is not good at one night stands, and Zexion doesn't make for a very believable cynic. A Zemyx oneshot.


Disclaimer: If only… but alas, not. Nor do I own Good Charlotte's "Dance Floor Anthem" around which this was born. Oh yes- and that goes for any films and songs referenced therein as well.

Warnings: Bad language, sexual situations, innuendo, alcohol usage, shameless music-related pop references, Axel. (Axel deserves to be on the list in his own right. He has no filter.) Also, it's quite possible the cheese is strong with this one...

Thanks To: My good friend Pup, who tolerates all of my crazies and motivates me to keep going (even though this is mostly a second-hand fandom for her that she kindly let me bully her into), a fandom and set of characters I find I can always go back to when I need them, and anybody who takes the time to read this strange (and unexpectedly long) first story as I slide back into the world of writing. Goodness, it's been _such_ a long time, but it feels amazing to have my first something ready to put out for this most splendid of pairing holidays. Happy Zemyx Day, and I hope you enjoy!

(Is Zemyx Day still a thing? Because if it isn't we need to revive it, y'all.)

0.o.0.o.0

0.o.0.o.0

All he wanted to do was dance. Was that too much to ask?

A heartbreak like this one, the kind that persisted and pestered and kept one up too late or in bed too long- never the healthy place in the middle- the kind that made it too hard to eat, to clean, to maintain a smile at work if any little reminder surfaced… There were few remedies for this illness, and Demyx had tried all of the ones that didn't involve potentially habit-forming drugs or life-threatening misadventures, over the month-and-some since the infamous breakup. Save one.

All he wanted to do was dance. Just walk into a dark club and feel the heat of a hundred or more other bodies packed close, colored lights flashing over heated skin and people all around but none of them concerned, or _pitying_ , or frowning down their noses because he couldn't quite get himself back together as fast as other times. Just a mass of moving bodies, hearing nothing but the painfully blaring music and feeling nothing but the bass lodging itself into his gut until it formed for itself a new heartbeat to replace the one which had been broken.

The trouble was his usual haunt was well and truly out of the question these days. The logic was really very simple. _Seventh Heaven_ was the nearest bar to Demyx's ratty apartment at the inside edge of the west end of Hollow Bastion, and was owned by one Tifa Lockhart, a woman in her early-thirties who was known for tough love (and general toughness) as much as for her long black hair and delightfully powerful drinks. Demyx had gone there the first time to celebrate his twenty-first with his then-roommate, who wanted to make sure he had a 'proper' birthday. It was quite proper, if one defined the word in this context to mean Demyx didn't remember very much, survived, and had a small photobook on his desk shelf filled to the brim with immensely amusing and embarrassing snapshots. But he digressed.

The bar belonged to Tifa, who he liked very much, but unfortunately so did everyone else. Cloud Strife in particular, who was a friend of Roxas Hart's through Struggle, harbored a long-lived obsession for the woman. Roxas' half-brother Sora went near anywhere Roxas did, and attached to his other hip was usually a ballerina named Kairi, who Demyx knew only because they attended the same art school and Sora liked to collect his friends into little bunches whenever possible. Kairi's best friend (presumably after Sora, with whom she seemed to spend a great deal of time giggling about boys) was Selphie Tilmitt. Demyx didn't really know her, except to know that rumor had it she was Irvine's newest fixation.

And there, good friend, laid the problem.

They hadn't dated for that long, really. A few months. But those few months had been such an exhausting rollercoaster of fantastic highs and tumultuous lows that Demyx found himself utterly unwilling to go anywhere where he might run into his ex. Was that immature? Maybe. Did he care? Way too much, in the general way, as a matter of fact… which in all seriousness caused more of his problems than any other facet of his personality.

Irvine was an incredible lover. Attentive, adventurous, flirtatious but loyal-ish, and good. Yeah. Good. After all, Demyx didn't hate him in the least. Maybe they'd even someday be friends. (Casual ones. Real casual. Actually… no, maybe not so much.) The point being, Irvine wasn't _bad_ at all and Demyx never claimed him to be. He was just… a wanderer. He had a lot of wants and needs, and if it was possible for a single person to fulfill all of those, Demyx was apparently not man enough to do the job. He had thought for a time that he was doing everything right. He worked hard to give him the attention he craved- he was damn dedicated. That at least had to be said for Demyx, in defense of his many shortcomings. He was hard to be rid of because he was willing to do about whatever it took to bring a person happiness, if he loved them. Maybe he loved too soon.

Irvine just had this infuriating way of throwing himself headlong and completely into whatever gained his fancy in the moment. Whether it be guns or women or a partner or his budding rock band, or whatever- if he decided it mattered his entire soul was poured into it. Being his lover meant one was entitled to a lot of affection, but falling out of love with him meant… well.

Demyx didn't know a thing could implode into silence and explode into life-eating flames simultaneously, but apparently it could.

All he wanted was to forget him. Truth be told, it wasn't a one-sided thing in the end. He had fallen out of love, too. The heartbreak wasn't so much from a love that lingered… it had a lot more to do with the severity and suddenness of the break… the way it snapped and collapsed upon itself after such a long time of trying _so hard_ … the way Demyx found himself so abruptly with all of this spare time he didn't know what to do with. People might think there was nothing going on inside this blond head, but in actuality… the most dangerous times for someone like Demyx were the times he was allowed too much time alone to think. He'd go in circles which turned into spirals which flushed him down into the dark depths of an inescapable well. Even in normal, good times, he had to be careful about that.

He'd written a song about it, once. Sora said he didn't understand it, but Roxas seemed like maybe he did.

All Demyx wanted was to get plastered and _dance_. Nothing could feel empty if he filled every sense with stimuli until he was about ready to burst. Nothing could hurt if he swung his body until he forgot his name. Nothing could possibly be wrong inside of you when you were dancing.

Wasn't it Lady Gaga who promised it would be okay? Just _dance_.

It was this train of thought which carried him through the underground trains north and into the downtown area of Hollow Bastion, just above the market district and close to the older part of town. It could be dodgy at night, but he wasn't afraid. He carried a small can of pepper spray with him near everywhere as a promise to his best friend from grade school before he moved to the big city, and even if he didn't, few people could flee with quite the excellence that Demyx could. He found himself gazing up, after a while, at a lit sign over a rather plain black door.

" _No Name Pub_." He read aloud, off the blocky but somehow artsy black-and-white sign, which declared it to be a pub and dancehall. The music coming from inside was muted by walls and a closed door, but it would doubtlessly be loud, and the beat was already creeping under the young man's skin, merging with his heartbeat and encouraging his pulse to leap with anticipation. Oh, it was worth a try. _What's the worst that could happen?_

Choosing pointedly not to answer that thought, Demyx tugged his license out of the pocket of his jeans to prove his age, scraped his fingers through his sandy-colored hair, making sure the long parts at the top were sticking up in the good way, not all over the place in the windblown way, and waited to be allowed inside. It didn't take long. Demyx was no looker, but he was kind of tall and long-legged and- if he may say so himself- pretty well dressed tonight. The jeans were well-fitting and freshly cleaned, his shirt snug and wrinkled in only the right places, shining symbol belonging to some band or another across his chest and jewelry carefully selected to look put-together without being too bling-y. Nothing wrong with bringing your A-game just for the sake of feeling attractive, right? Not like he was looking to pick somebody up or anything.

He just wanted to dance.

Some techno remix of a popular pop song slapped Demyx's brain silly once he made it down the stairs and into the basement dancehall, and he was happy to bounce on the balls of his feet, expertly swerving his way around bodies on the tightly-packed floor in a sort of leisurely trip towards the better-lit bar at the back. Blue and red beams of light caressed his skin and altered the color of his hair and the music sank into the marrow of his bones.

Everything good in this world could be attached to music. He believed that more strongly than he believed in god- it was what kept him with it when it was hard, what made him sit up at night with a guitar and a notebook, what inspired him to sing and dance and write… and spend unspeakable amounts of money on furthering his education in it. Jokes were made all the time, but he really did believe it _\- music was life_.

Already beginning to feel better, beginning to feel himself again, Demyx took the time to pop and swing with a pair of laughing college girls, all leg and too-short skirts and painted nails. He laughed with them, spun the nearer one with his hand like a ballroom dancer, before shooting them a grin and a peace sign and moving along his way. The beat shifted, merging one song into the next with perfection and Demyx found himself nodding appreciatively and distracted again from his destination. The DJ was good, and the crowd was happy, and Demyx was happy because something was finally, finally going _right_. His very first place of the night, and he'd stumbled upon a _good_ one.

By the time he reached the bar he was nearly giddy and breathless, collapsing into an empty stool between a girl with what appeared to be a birthday cocktail before her and a man in a black shirt. The girl was with at least three others, full of giggles and chatter, but the man seemed to be alone. Demyx turned his attention towards him on the observation, and soon found himself caught, staring without meaning to. It was just the way the lights danced across his back and what little skin he left revealed. He looked paper-white in the light, shadows dancing over his face and hair a shade something like grey in the partial dark- but he wasn't old. Demyx could see in profile a face which looked rather young, actually… almost too young to be here. Sensing eyes on him, the stranger turned, a heavy curtain of hair sliding forward to obscure much of his expression from view. Demyx blinked, laughed sheepishly and scratched the back of his neck.

"Oh, hi!" He yelled over the music. The stranger blinked. If he had any intention to reply, he was interrupted by the bartender, who all but collided with the edge of the bar in his exuberance. He was very tall but very narrow, with long limbs and wild crimson hair, tattoos peeking out from under many pieces of silver jewelry and tight-fitting black clothes. He even seemed to have some ink on his cheeks.

"Zexy!" He cried in a voice that was just a bit rough from too much shouting. "My darling- my love! I didn't see you there!" The stranger, 'Zexy' apparently, rolled his eyes but smirked.

"You're terrible at your job." He informed him in a not-quite shout. Demyx found himself leaning in a little, so he could hear. "How have you not been fired yet?" He might be haughty and chiding, seeming horridly out of place in this energetic atmosphere, but Demyx thought at least he had a nice voice. Poised and smooth, like polished ice. The bartender, however, just grinned sharply.

"I'm hot as hell and can handle the pace- and am otherwise just fucking awesome." He explained proudly.

"So you grew on Marluxia like invasive mold?" Zexy supplied. The redhead laughed, loud and hard. Demyx decided he could like that guy. He was a little bit like sandpaper, but he sure did enjoy himself.

"If you're not gonna buy a drink it's in my job description to ask you to get the hell off my stool!" He added after another sharp grin. Zexy, seeming quite used to this, leaned back slightly, pressing a narrow hand to his chest and giving him a look of shock and offence (or Demyx guessed, since he was watching at profile again and the hair really did get in the way).

"I have to order? A _good_ bar wench would know what the regulars like by now." The bartender laughed and grabbed a glass and a bottle of gin.

"One of these days you're gonna say that and I'm gonna make you some kind of frothy pink-tini something with a heart drawn into the foam. And give it to you- and then just _watch_." Tonic water and a slice of lime joined the gin in the glass, which was tasted as soon as it had landed before the man on the stool.

"I'll give it back and you'll be punished for wasting." He replied evenly, licking his lips.

"Maybe," The bartender relented. "But every gay in the room will zero _right_ _in_ on you and then- _hello_!" Startling green eyes (was it just the light in here?) landed on Demyx at last and the blond jumped and yelped. He had hardly even realized he was still eavesdropping. Too bad red was one of the colors that showed in this light- he'd have liked to have the blush washed out at least some.

"Eh! Sorry!" A single dark eye was on him too in a moment, pale lips pursed and fingers cupping the squat glass. Demyx's gaze darted between the two and he tried out a sheepish grin. The bartender took pity on him after several seconds of staring and hearing only the heavy bass behind them.

"Drink, kid-?"

"Oh!" Demyx yelped again, and scurried to tug the proof of his legality buying alcohol from his pocket, which the bartender studied disinterestedly before passing back to him. "Right! Uh… can I have a raspberry lemon drop?" He asked hopefully. The redhead smirked in a way which was a little too knowing but mixed the beverage without complaint. If he shot a meaningful glance at his friend on Demyx's left, the blond chose solidly to ignore it. The friend did similarly, just sipping his drink and watching Demyx flounder about uselessly until he had the opportunity to pay for his drink. "Th-thanks!"

The bartender rested his elbows on the counter, chin on hands, to watch him taste it. It was good, made just right, but Demyx felt weird drinking it while being so intently watched. "Haven't seen you before- what d'you call yourself?" Oh. Oh, that was okay, then. Demyx smiled over the lip of his glass and provided.

"Demyx!" The other nodded.

"I'm Axel, A-X-E-L. Got it memorized?" He tapped his temple with a long finger and Demyx could only blink in bemusement.

"Don't you have a job to do, bar wench?" Zexy asked him over the roar of the song. Axel only grinned and waved himself away.

"Play nice with our new friend, baby!" He called as he sashayed over to take more drink orders from the female birthday party. Demyx blinked and glanced at Zexy uncertainly. The other male was rubbing his forehead with two fingers from each hand and muttering something to himself. Demyx couldn't quite hear, but if he had to guess, he'd say it was some kind of declaration of 'why do I associate myself with that guy'. Their gazes met again a moment later and Demyx was just about to turn and flee (it wasn't cowardice, it was a _skill_ ) when the other man surprised him by speaking.

"Demyx, was it? Well met. Call me Zexion." He offered a hand to shake. Demyx stared at it in surprise for all of twenty seconds before his brain caught up and he took it in his own, shaking firmly. It was cold but soft under his calloused fingers. He grinned.

"Yeah, hi! Uh, I mean- nice to meet you too." The girls to his right were having a serious discussion about body-shots, so Demyx took the opportunity to spin on his stool so he was mostly facing the stranger. Zexion lifted his glass, glanced over Demyx's shoulder, and rolled his eyes.

"Cheers?" He offered, tilting the glass towards Demyx's. The blond clinked the cups together lightly and just as the girls were cheering their newly-initiated twenty-one-year-old friend through her first body-shot, some kind of conversation was struck up.

0.o.0.o.0

Sometime between the first drink and the third, the pair established that they had a fair amount to talk about. Literature and music weren't after all, all that different. They were both stuffy disciplines to those who didn't understand them and vast worlds of color and life to those who did. Zexion was smart, too smart for Demyx, but he seemed used to being over people's heads and so the stupid-feeling faded with time… or maybe with the buzz of alcohol and music in his ringing ears.

Sometime between the second drink and the round of tequila shots Axel bullied them into "-to solidify the power of our _friendship_!" Demyx noticed the way Zexion worried his lower lip with his fingers when he was thinking, or listening. Once he noticed it, it became increasingly difficult to ignore.

Sometime between the round of shots and the moment where Zexion assured him that he _did not dance- ever_ , Demyx had completely forgotten why he was even here. But it felt _good_ \- he couldn't remember exactly why (didn't feel like trying to) but he got the feeling he hadn't felt light in so very long, and suddenly it was as if his feet were feathers and his mind was among the stars reflected against the one visible dark eye. Just the lights flashing and feathering over their clothes and skin and he knew that, but in that midnight colored eye Demyx could only see stars.

Sometime between the time he tried to drag Zexion to the dance floor over one of his favorite songs and the moment his back hit the vertical plane of something solid, he had gotten his first taste of the silk and velvet insides of the other man's mouth, felt thin hands gripping at his hips, sinfully soft hair… staggered out of the too-hot bar and into the too-humid night air, into a building, up a flight of stairs…

Still-chilled fingers crept under his shirt and Demyx gasped, arching off of the apartment door and against the shorter male pinning him there. Shaking hands clutched at narrow hips, pulling the other close as he pressed back, grinding them together through the restricting fabric of their jeans. Zexion returned the gesture, smiling against the skin above Demyx's collar and in another moment items of clothing began dispersing themselves across the floor.

Another blink and Demyx was on his back again, touching and being touched- and it was alien and strange and hot and cool and altogether like nothing he'd ever known before. He _liked_ it. Even better, if the hums and purrs were any indication Zexion was inclined to agree. They held tight and moved slow, pressing open-mouthed bruises to one another's throats and shoulders, crescent-moon marks from blunt fingernails into the flesh of thighs and buttocks. Breath and scents mingled with bare bodies between lavender smelling sheets.

A jerk, a gasp, a cry (Demyx's), a hold like a vise and then white ocean waves crashed over and around them, and they collapsed together against the pillows, clutching to the other still and trembling in the aftershocks of earthquakes which brought them through ecstasy and onto calmer shores. Demyx's head spun and swayed back and forth as if he was sprawled out on a floating raft instead of a full sized bed, and he panted, only wincing slightly when the other male separated their bodies and collapsed at his side. Demyx chuckled, rolled onto his side, and wrapped his arms affectionately around the smaller frame.

"That's… not what I expected to do with my Saturday." He admitted breathlessly. Zexion chuckled and shifted, fingertips ghosting over Demyx's ribs and around his back, to press gently against his spine.

"…You seem the sort to like surprises." He whispered after a pause. Demyx couldn't resist the urge to grin and kiss him. The other froze, seeming to find this a shock (Demyx couldn't guess why) but didn't pull away. Demyx peppered his face and jaw with kisses when they broke, giggling and not-quite thinking.

"I do!"

Zexion ran his hand up Demyx's side to thread into his hair, both eyes visible in the nighttime dimness and trained unwaveringly on the blue-green of the blond's. There was something in there, something that wasn't like the stars Demyx had watched in the club. He stared back, transfixed, but Zexion was not quite so stricken. He gripped the base of Demyx's neck through strands of hair, rubbing in a way that comforted, soothed, and distracted Demyx just enough from the strange look in his eyes that he forgot to worry about it. His eyelids felt heavy and he fought it. Thin fingers squeezed gently. Demyx licked his lips. Zexion let out a breathy huff that could have been a laugh.

"Go to sleep, you strange creature." He soothed. Demyx obeyed.

0.o.0.o.0

Early morning sunlight washed through the bedroom and bathed floors and furniture alike in a soft golden light. The window blinds were open, letting in every ounce of the infant sunrise as the sphere of light lazily crept between and over building rooftops. Demyx was tucked carefully between someone else's sheets, head on a pillow, reaching blindly for a body he instinctively knew should have been there. He realized first that he was alone, and second, that his back was sore in a way he knew well and his head pounded in a way that meant he should have had a glass of water before bed. Groaning, he forced his eyes open and his torso off of the mattress.

The room around him was alien in the light of day (they hadn't bothered to turn on any lights, before). A nicer, though smaller apartment than Demyx's, with worn wood floors swept very clean, white-painted walls and a few pieces of furniture squeezed into the compact space- the bed against the side wall, a desk under the window, small wardrobe and well-stocked bookcase silent sentinels against the other wall. The shelf was so close to the bed that it seemed to serve halfway as a bedside table, upon it a tall glass of water and a small white bottle of over-the-counter painkillers. Demyx stared at the items in surprise, but took the invitation gratefully. He swallowed two and downed most of the glass of water before untangling gangly legs from the sheets and searching the floor for familiar pieces of clothing. He was dumbfounded by sleep and hangover for long enough that it wasn't until his polka-dotted boxers hung off his hips and he stood barefoot near the doorway that it really hit him. What he had done.

Demyx had just… gone home with… and had _sex_ _with_ a perfect stranger. He had just… Feeling suddenly nauseous, he leaned against the wall beside the mostly-closed door, eyes wide and unseeing. What was the _matter_ with him? And… and what should he do _now_? In all his life he'd never dreamed of doing a thing like this… oh god- what must Zexion be thinking? (At least he clearly remembered his name…) Had he been terribly drunk? Had he gone sober and climbed out of bed and fled to another part of his home out of shame and fear? This was such a _massive mistake_. What had Demyx been _thinking_?

Demyx's gaze blurred and wavered as tears built unwittingly in his eyes, and he searched the room for clothes in a surge of desperation. His jeans had been kicked halfway under the foot of the bed but otherwise he was out of luck. They had… started shedding before they reached the bedroom, hadn't they? _Oh god_ …

The apartment was so quiet Demyx had a hard time breathing, throat closing in terror as he built up the courage (and lost it no less than three times) to venture out of the bedroom into the unknown beyond. The apartment was east-facing, and so the public spaces in it were bathed in the same golden light of the bedroom, stretched across pristine floors and dustless things. Sterile white walls continued throughout, but the living space seemed well-used. A small old fashioned television sat beside a pile of books on the cabinet against the wall, in front of a lumpy second-hand sofa and beanbag chair, grouped around a rectangular coffee table and purple rug to form a sort of living room on the nearer end of the space. Beyond that was the door to the outside and a tiny kitchenette, which was furnished with a stove, sink, narrow refrigerator, and miniscule microwave nestled into the corner on stained but spit-shined linoleum counters. The coffeemaker was on and filling the otherwise-lavender scented space with the heavy aromas of morning.

Zexion was nowhere to be seen. Demyx ambled in uncertainly, eyes trailing over the floor in search of his shirt and shoes. He wasn't sure which bothered him more, the idea of being left alone in Zexion's apartment to find his own way out, or the thought of looking into unfamiliar eyes and trying to explain this colossal lapse in better judgement. Luckily, fate or Zexion made the decision for him not a moment later.

"Good morning."

"Eep!" Demyx yelped and spun on the pads of his feet, startled by the voice from behind him. Zexion was standing in a doorway Demyx hadn't noticed before, close to the bedroom, which must have held a bathroom beyond. He was cleaned and dressed in dark blue cotton pajama pants, drawstring tied snugly across narrow hips, and a white shirt with a stretched out neckline, just enough so that Demyx could spot the evidence of his biting kisses across the pale collar. He was almost as ethereal in the daylight as he'd been in the dark. Pale skin porcelain smooth and eyes a deep shade of blue. His hair was half-dry and combed so only a few strands made their way into his heart shaped face, and was a color much less like grey and more like slate-blue in honest light. The sun brought out highlights of periwinkle and silver and lowlights dark and rich like his curious eyes. Demyx's mouth went dry and he stared. Zexion, to his part, only tilted his head to one side and considered him.

"Sorry I startled you. Would you like a cup of coffee?" He breezed past Demyx on shorter legs, casually reaching into the cabinet above the coffeemaker to pull down two white mugs from beside a ceramic teapot and other miscellaneous kitchenware. Demyx opened and closed his mouth soundlessly as two cups of the dark brew were poured and a carton of creamer tugged from the fridge. Zexion gestured casually with a hand as he stirred cream and sugar into his, glancing at his guest through the corner of his eye. Demyx crept after him dumbly, readying his morning beverage also. Deafening silence stretched between them until well after they'd migrated to the sitting area, Demyx perched timidly on the edge of the couch, Zexion settled cross-legged on the floor by one end of the table.

Demyx could feel eyes on him but for the longest time he was so busy trying to breathe and not to cry, gaze focused blankly on the insides of his mug, that he couldn't bring himself to speak. Zexion, it seemed, had little reservation in that way either.

"Not much of a morning person?" He guessed after a while, voice even smoother and colder than Demyx remembered noticing the night before- even using a bemused sympathetic tone as he was. Demyx jumped again at the voice, and felt heat rushing to his face.

"N-nah, I mean- I just, uh…" He didn't know what to _say_ , dammit, but he dared meet the other's gaze in the silence that followed his stammers. Zexion watched him unblinkingly, something strange and unreadable in his eyes. Demyx swallowed. "S-sorry. I don't normally do… this." Realization seemed to wash over the other man and he nodded, setting his cup on the tabletop quietly.

"It's morning-after's you're not comfortable with then." Demyx winced.

"No… I mean, not normally. But I guess I… I-I'm sorry, just… what we…" He shifted uncomfortably and dropped his gaze back to his cup, wishing caffeine had the solution. It could solve so very much else.

"…Have you never done this casually before?" His voice was hushed, surprised, and under it Demyx could only smile sheepishly.

"If I say no, am I an idiot?"

"Naïve," The other consoled, "But I don't believe an idiot. Not entirely at least." He paused for a time, to sip his drink. Demyx tried to do similarly, watching him again, the dread slowing beginning to fade as, at least, Zexion didn't seem especially bothered by anything that had transpired between them. "Allow me to give you some advice." When Demyx nodded, Zexion smiled just slightly, a little gesture. "Don't feel ashamed. We are consenting adults, neither of us was too intoxicated to know our own minds, and acting out of physical attraction is not so dirty and terrible a thing as the romantics would have you believe." He sipped his coffee, shrugging slightly, as if it was all very simple.

Demyx felt like an idiot for all of this staring.

"Eh… you don't think it's… bad? I-I mean… I didn't mean to, to…" He swallowed. "I just got out of a relationship not too long ago, and…" And all he'd _meant_ to do was dance. He didn't want to get involved again, not with anyone and not anytime soon. Zexion seemed unperturbed by the news.

"Not at all. You needed a rebound and I have no interest in any sort of romantic affiliations. I enjoy the stress-relief of it, is all. There's no harm in us having used one another that way. No one was hurt."

It seemed so simple, so… cold. Demyx frowned at the thought. Parts of the previous night were a blur, there was no mistaking it, but the things he did remember didn't exactly paint Zexion out as a heartless bastard just looking for some physical release. He'd been gentle when it mattered, seductive in a way that wasn't predatory, even tender. It seemed strange to imagine someone that attentive and frankly- that cuddly- as the same person who so casually belittled the importance romance played in a person's life.

Of course, that might have been the romantic in Demyx talking. It pestered often, and led him on into many variations of a broken heart. That being the truth of it, really… maybe Zexion had a point. Maybe he was too soft in the chest and too dedicated. Maybe if he could learn to care just a little less he wouldn't always be the walking wounded. Encouraged by the unexpected ease settling in his gut at the idea, Demyx could smile and finish his coffee in something more resembling peace.

Conversation flowed more easily after that, more like it had in the bar the previous night, and before Demyx located the last of his belongings and went on his way he had laughed and joked, scrambled up a large pan of eggs and helped the shorter man empty the pot of coffee. The day was going to be sunny and warm, and while ugly thoughts niggled at the back of his mind still, Demyx found himself able to ignore them and really enjoy something for the first time in months.

"Oh," Zexion said, just as Demyx was checking to ensure his money clip and identification were in his pockets where they belonged on his way out the door. The blond paused, glancing back at him. "If you want to, you should come and say hello again sometime. Not for anything to happen, of course. It's only that Axel found you amusing and I'm afraid once he forces you to drink tequila with him he's adopted you as one of his own. Best not to fight it, unless you plan to disappear forever and never be found. He can be terribly whiney." His voice was even yet exasperated, like a parent over-used to humoring their child on the matter, but something fond glimmered in his dark eyes and Demyx found himself caught by them. Somehow even the stars he'd watched in them the night before couldn't compare to what he saw in the daylight, expressive and round and lovely. Demyx couldn't help but grin.

"Heh, sure! Just can't promise more of that- get the sinking suspicion I'm a 'tequila makes her clothes fall off' kind of guy." Zexion chuckled and Demyx laughed, and he waved as he went along his way. It hadn't been a promise, to go back to _No Name_ again, but something told him he'd be hard pressed to come up with reasons not to- even though one night stands weren't at all in his nature and he felt something awkward and empty digging itself out a nest somewhere close to his heart, brought to the front of his mind by leaving the tidy little apartment without a morning kiss.

0.o.0.o.0

Demyx wouldn't have been able to explain what brought him through the line and into the dark and noisy depths of _No Name_ the following Friday after his evening class let out, but he had the sinking suspicion his poor choices made there the weekend before had something to do with it. Sam Smith had warned of this, of feeling too emotional on the back end of a one night stand, but Demyx was an idiot, so of course he didn't listen. Even the sultry sounds of that angelic voice couldn't dissuade every lonely dumbass from giving in, apparently.

And Demyx was _definitely_ a dumbass. No one had ever accused him of being clever. Or otherwise smart. But there was, at least, one half-decent excuse for the field trip. See, Kairi was entertaining the possibility of a new boyfriend, which meant she had a desperate need for Sora's support at the bar tonight. Sora, much as he loved her, wasn't interested in doing this sober ( _ever again_ , apparently, after a catastrophe a few months back that triggered some kind of war-flashbacks in the little brunet whenever mentioned) which meant he had a need for Roxas' support. Roxas, unlike his brother and his friends, was man enough not to need Demyx's support, which was damn lucky for him- seeing as they all planned on getting dressed up and heading to _Seventh Heaven_ and the musician still wasn't really willing to set foot there. He got out of it on the excuse that he couldn't even be bribed in money to care about Kairi's ever-questionable taste in men or how this one would end up.

He _might_ have taken part in the betting pool though. _Theoretically speaking_ , if such a thing existed, Demyx might participate in the way of a shiny new two-thousand-munny bill with the bet that this one would turn out to be another closeted homosexual who would, through his relationship with her, come to terms with the reality of his preferences and skip off into a rainbow-tinged sunset… possibly with another of her exes. Yes, it had happened. More than once.

The poor girl never got much sympathy about it- mostly because it was just so comical.

With this on his mind, rather than the less-than-appealing thoughts that had plagued him too much recently, Demyx smiled up at the monstrous bouncer on his way inside. He felt himself start to relax the moment he stepped into the dimness and under those colored lights. _No Name_ looked the same as it had last week; felt the same. The music was good, energetic, very loud. He could see laughing girls and guys trying to impress them on the floor. He could see the backlit bar across the way, stocked with people and two black-wearing bartenders. He could feel the humming in his veins as feet took him down the staircase and into the circle of moving bodies, like the very beginnings of being drunk though he wasn't.

He dodged around a group and spun, sliding his eyes closed and taking in a deep breath. The place was well ventilated- only smelling a little of overwarm bodies pressed just a little too close together to be decent. He let the music sink into him, like before, until it settled neatly between that uncomfortable little nest of shame and his heart, buffering them from one another until air reached his lungs easier and his ears began to ring. He moved his hips and arms first, and then his feet, and he sang along to the words he knew (all of them) and jerked and swayed with the best of them. That is, until his elbow connected with something solid.

"Oh!" He yelped, spinning on his heels, but instead of the angered dancer he expected to see there, his eyes met the technicolor green of the bartender he'd met here the Saturday before. Axel, dressed much the same as last time, grinned sharply and caught his arm in a hand.

"Demmy! Good to see you!" The much taller man yanked the blond from the floor without hesitation, dragging him off to the side and up a short staircase into a side of the club Demyx hadn't ventured into before. It was a bit quieter up here, stocked with booths and tables for conversation on the black carpet, two tidy pool tables, and presenting a good view of the dancefloor below. Demyx blinked owlishly, stumbling as the fiery redhead dragged him bodily through a maze of occupied tables to one near the back. It was an isolated spot, one Demyx figured had to be fought for to obtain. They came to an abrupt stop near the edge of the table, where one young man was sitting calmly, holding a paperback book between pale fingers.

"Reading in this light is bad for your eyes." Axel drawled, grinning with a pride that made him look eerily like a cat after catching the canary.

"You don't say." Zexion replied disinterestedly, turning a page. Demyx felt a jolt in his gut and a stab in his chest all at once. He shouldn't have expected not to see him here- and he hadn't really- but he hadn't expected it to be so _soon_ , or in a way like this, either. At least, he could soothe into his mind, Zexion was every bit as attractive to the sober eyes as he'd been through the beer goggles.

"Look what I found!" Axel shifted gears effortlessly, preventing Demyx's surging fight or flight (just flight. Really just flight) reflexes with a grip around his elbow. Zexion looked up, blinked, and gave a small, polite smile.

"Demyx. Fancy meeting you here." Demyx would say Zexion's voice sounded pleased, but it really was difficult to tell for sure. He didn't look uncomfortable, at least. Demyx laughed sheepishly and scratched at the back of his neck with his unrestrained hand.

"Heh, yeah! Small, uh… small world?" He tried lamely. Zexion, to his great surprise, chuckled. Axel, seeming to take this as some kind of sign, manhandled Demyx into the booth and slid in across from him, pushing the half-consumed pitcher of beer to one side so nothing restricted his view. Demyx felt his face growing hot but settled at Zexion's side as casually as he could. "Eh… what's up?"

"Night off!" Axel supplied cheerily, leaning his elbows on the table and his chin on his fists. "I love Fridays when I don't have to work them." He sighed happily, gazing off to one side as if a high school girl fantasizing about love. Zexion snickered behind his book.

"You've caught him on a fine night." He added conspiratorially. "He's obviously been up to no good. It makes him very jolly." Demyx tried not to laugh at the use of the word _jolly_ to describe the tattooed, vaguely frightening and quite possibly insane man sitting across from him. He _really_ tried. Axel gasped in dramatic mock-disgust.

"Oh, you wound me so." He said over the blonde's laughter and his friend's continued snickers. "So, _so_ undignified, the things you say to me."

"That's right, my bar wench." Zexion agreed pleasantly, marking his place in the book and setting it aside at last. "Now why don't you go order us something to eat? And drinks too."

"Why should I?"

"Because as I understand it, employee discounts are a thing- and because you have to buy my love."

Axel blew a raspberry at him before sliding off the booth, eying Demyx slyly as he did.

"Heeeey, you want a job?" He asked him suddenly. Demyx jumped. "Because I can _totally_ put in a good word with Marly for you. All you have to do is swear faithfully that you will forever be here on Friday nights to make use of that _employee discount_. I've heard it is the end-all be-all way to grasp your own piece of that dry, shriveled raisin Zexy calls his heart. Also- I'm fucking sick of buying all the time." Zexion rolled his eyes at the dramatics. Demyx laughed nervously.

"You don't have to buy for me…" He offered.

"Yes you do." Zexion countered, just as fast. Axel stuck his tongue out again, waving them off.

"Buy him all this shit I don't want to, _constantly_ insulted, and never so much as a blow job- it's just like being _married_!" He cried theatrically as he waved himself off and disappeared to the floor below. Demyx watched him go uncertainly, realizing only after Axel had well vanished from view that he was being watched too. He turned his eyes on those round ones belonging to Zexion and found himself swallowing thickly.

Why was he here? What idiotic part of him thought this could _ever_ be a good idea? He was too awkward. He didn't know how post-one-night-stands were meant to work… and Sam had completely failed to explain that one, outside of describing exactly _why_ they sucked. And hell if he wasn't spot-on right. Zexion was downright pretty, watching him curiously this way, and Demyx caught himself rather wishing, not that it hadn't happened as he'd been most of the week, but that it hadn't happened _that_ _way_. The build-up of a relationship would have been nice, at another time and in another place. He craved the touch of those cool hands, fingers laced between his… and promptly shook the thought forcefully from his mind. It wasn't love, or anything much resembling it. It was just… loneliness. And loneliness would fade.

"I wasn't sure we'd see you." Zexion said simply at last, head tilting to one side just slightly. Demyx barked a laugh and tugged at the overgrown hairs at the base of his neck.

"Heh, yeah me neither." He admitted. "It isn't… weird, is it? I-I mean, I could go…"

"I don't find it weird." Zexion assured him. "It isn't like the end of a relationship, Demyx. There aren't those tedious broken feelings. It was just sex, and therefore you don't need to worry about it." He did have a point there, Demyx couldn't deny. Why was he so bothered by going to his usual place? Because he might see Irvine there. Why would that be so terrible? Because they once had feelings for one another that now had gone. The things they had done to one another behind closed doors really did, technically, have very little to do with the problem. Of course, Demyx was used to associating those behaviors with those feelings… but he found himself again seriously considering the possible merits of being more casual. Everybody needs a little love, even when they don't want to be _in_ love, right?

"Do you… usually make friends with your, uh…" Demyx realized suddenly that he had absolutely _no idea_ what to call himself, or that thing they had between them. Zexion laughed and shook his head, leaning back into the corner casually.

"No. I don't always… how to put it kindly… make my choices based very much on whether or not the person has much going on in their mind over their… shapeliness." Demyx hid his face in his hands, making a noise in his throat. Even Zexion seemed a little embarrassed. In hindsight, Demyx would probably consider that a good thing- even he wasn't unshakable. "But Axel noticed your shirt. It was from a band tour, right? He had gone to it too as I gather, and felt that if you had taste that good and could handle some tequila he could use you in his life."

"Oh." Well, that made sense. "Does he kidnap people often?"

"More than you would think." Zexion replied solemnly. Demyx still hadn't decided if he wanted more details on that idea or not, by the time Axel returned with a large basket of seasoned fries and small round tray of clear glasses. He set the things down and slid back into his seat, already chewing a fry while he dispersed the beverages between them; gin and tonic for Zexion, something amber colored for himself, and something vaguely pinkish for Demyx. The blond stared at it suspiciously. Axel merely grinned.

"It's kind of like a raspberry lemon drop, only it does a better job at pretending to be a grown-up drink." He offered by way of explanation. Demyx sipped gingerly, wrinkled his nose at the taste, and spent exactly forty seven seconds trying to decide if he wanted to ask Axel what was in it or not. From the look in those intently-watching eyes, he decided not to.

"A lemon drop has liquor in it…" Demyx argued weakly.

"Don't fight the bar wench." Zexion advised, patting Demyx's nearer shoulder. "This is one of two things he knows more about than anyone else, and he would gleefully prove it to you. If you intend to go home tonight instead of to the hospital with alcohol poisoning, now is the time to capitulate." Demyx chuckled nervously, but Axel looked offended.

"Hey, I can count three!" He argued, waving a fry across the table at his friend.

"Bondage doesn't count." Zexion supplied patiently. "Most of your knowledge on it is theoretical, and on a subject like that hypotheticals just won't do." When Axel opened his mouth to retort, Zexion snatched the fry from between his fingers and plucked it into the waiting cavity. Axel recoiled, half-choking as Zexion leaned back smugly. "And we've been over this and the answer is _still_ no- your trashy harlequins are not an acceptable reference material for _any_ kind of knowledge."

This argument morphed into another one, and then another- all hilarious, and mainly won by the dark haired guy at Demyx's left- over the course of the evening, through this round of drinks and another, until their basket of fries was nothing but grease-soaked paper, and everyone was buzzing and tired. Axel liked to dance, though Demyx thought he wasn't particularly good at it, so they came and went a few times over the occasional favorite song. Zexion vehemently refused and threatened some pretty graphic violence when Demyx tried to carry him. He… would not be attempting that again anytime soon. No man wants to know in any sense of the word what it might feel like to have one's most precious tidbits fed into a paper shredder.

The night grew late, and Demyx went home alone. The odd discomfort was still nestled there in its nest, but it didn't bother him as much. Axel was insane, but not in a bad way, and Zexion's biting tongue was hilarious once you got used to it… and the others who trickled in and out through the night, other friends, all seemed fine too. Demyx dared to say he even liked them as much as he did the Hart brothers.

If anything, the tension he'd felt between himself and Zexion had dissipated over the course of the night, leaving behind a warm sensation flickering gently through Demyx's insides like a single candle flame. He could get used to it, he thought. He really could.

0.o.0.o.0

"I swear to god, if you sing that girl-song at me I will break your fingers."

Demyx laughed, arm slung over his friend's shoulders as they walked down the dimly-lit streets lining the border between the west end and the central district of Hollow Bastion. September was nearing its end and the chill was just starting to seep into the city around them, but it was largely ignored- by two out of the three people present, anyway. Sora, on Roxas' other side, was bundled up in one of his several heavy coats, body forever unused to cold. Demyx, to his part, rather preferred it here to the place he used to live. Here, it sometimes snowed in the winter. Where he came from, freezing rain was about the coldest they ever had. Sora however, he knew, preferred his tropical hometown.

"But you only have _one_ chance to feel twenty-two!" The taller blond argued playfully, squeezing Roxas against his side and ignoring the elbow to his ribs in retribution. "And you're the last of us to get there- we have to have breakfast at midnight and- and fall in love with strangers!"

"I will break your fingers." Roxas reiterated. Sora laughed at his other side.

"C'mon, lighten up." He advised cheerily. "Kairi said everyone's going to be around tonight, and Tifa promised us the corner booth and some free food!"

"Is your heart literally in your stomach?" His brother asked him with a raised brow. "Really. Everything is food for you."

"Dude, free food is the nectar of the gods for people like us. I'm so sick of caf-food." Demyx snickered at Sora's weak argument, trying hard to think more about this than about the idea of setting foot into _Seventh Heaven_ and the uncomfortable butterflies that concept set loose in his stomach. But it was his friend's birthday, so come hell or high water he would be there to celebrate it. He felt a little guilty anyway, really. Sora had been complaining just this week that he spent less time with them these days. It wasn't that he liked the _No Name_ crew better or anything, or that he was unwilling to spend the time with the Hart brothers. It was just… awkward around everyone, sometimes these days. And he couldn't explain.

They stepped through the door and into the warmly-lit atmosphere, the bar quieter tonight than a weekend night would be, but not empty in the slightest. Tifa smiled from her place behind the olive-toned bar and waved a hand to them. Sora tugged Roxas free of Demyx's grasp and yanked him all the way to the shining counter, chatting already to the owner of the small but nice establishment in excitable tones. Demyx didn't really listen, instead breathing in the familiar scents of this place and listening to the music in the background while his eyes scanned the occupants of the various tables and booths wearily. Kairi burst from their reserved booth, a large rounded one in the far corner, to hug Roxas and Sora in turn. Namine waved from her seat, glowing in the fading lights the way she always seemed to, all pastel colors and whitewashed hair. Tidus and Wakka were already halfway through a pitcher of beer and tiny little ninja-Yuffie was helping herself to the cupcakes someone had made, while Kairi wasn't guarding them. To Demyx's extreme relief, Selphie and her now-boyfriend were nowhere in sight.

"Been a while, Dem!" Tifa said as he approached her, preparing for them already the first round of drinks- Roxas' being on the house due to the occasion. He smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck, not sure how to reply. "Found someplace better, mm?"

"Eh- no! Not better. Just… eh… different?" He tried, color rushing to his face. The woman only laughed, reaching across the counter to punch his shoulder gently, burgundy eyes shining.

"Don't sweat it kid- I'm just joking." She set his usual lemon drop down after Sora's cherry-something-or-other, and slapped the counter with an open hand just once. "Happy birthday, Rox!"

The night felt strange somehow, but not bad. Everyone chatted away pleasantly, emptied the plate of cupcakes and at least two large orders of wings. Songs were requested and dares lived out. They were rowdy on special occasions, and rowdy was fun, but Demyx couldn't help but think a time or two, that he almost missed Axel's snarky drawls and Zexion's lightning-fast comebacks a little. As if sensing the blond's thoughts, the redhead texted him at around midnight, claiming that something _amazing_ was happening and he'd be a loser to miss it. Demyx had smiled, but replied he was busy with other friends- to which Axel said something about _cheating on him_ that was typed with such vigor the blond could hear his voice complaining in his head. Maybe he really was spending too much time with them… but at least it wasn't just for, uh… physical stress-relief? Ugh.

It wasn't… it wasn't like that. After all, he had only gone home with Zexion a couple of times total. They hung out platonically a lot more often than anything else and… he realized with a start that he was blushing at nothing, and washed the thoughts away from his brain with some mental bleach as soon as he was able.

Irvine and Selphie showed up for a while. In a group this large, Demyx could keep mostly to himself while they were near without drawing any attention to speak of. He wondered if it was as weird for the cowboy as it was for him. He wondered, too, why it wasn't weird in a jealousy sort of way. Sure, he'd realized a long time ago that not too much in the way of feelings lingered, but Demyx had always been a pretty affectionate creature. He was single, so seeing his ex all but surgically attached to someone new- someone he _knew_ no less- should have left him feeling uncomfortably irritated. Instead… he wasn't sure he felt much at all. Awkward as hell, of course, but not envious.

Oh god, maybe Zexion had really gotten to him. Maybe this casual-thing _was_ actually a thing of value. He'd gone back and forth on the idea constantly, but…

Something wasn't right, but it wasn't as wrong as it sometimes seemed either. He didn't quite understand it yet, but he could feel it there, just between the little shame-nest and his heart. It was tender down in there, but at least it wasn't hurting. Demyx decided… he could probably live with that.

He successfully talked Sora into coaxing most of the bar into a terribly off-key (and for the most part terribly drunken) rendition of precisely the song Roxas had threatened him against sometime well after midnight. Tifa leaned her elbows on the bar and laughed and laughed as the smaller blond chased him around tables at high speeds, cursing and with a sort of hellfire in his cerulean eyes. It was only because it would be stuck in his head now, Demyx figured privately with great satisfaction as he ducked around a couple of older guys to dodge Roxas' angry lunge. He wasn't about to let the kid catch him though, no matter the reason. He did kind of need his fingers intact, after all.

Demyx fled the scene not long after, wishing his friend a good birthday once more and waving to the others. He wasn't the first to leave, which he figured meant he'd put in his fair share of time. Besides, Roxas could use some family-time too and Sora seemed to be seriously considering the karaoke equipment in the corner and, well, that was an activity better left for some time a lot earlier than two am.

He walked through abandoned streets and let the thoughts he'd been avoiding all night wash through him. Only when he was alone did he think in these tones of voice, and maybe it wasn't alright, but he couldn't bottle them all up permanently. There would always be a sort of empty feeling after a night surrounded by so many people. Drained. A sort of… moment hitting the ground again hard enough to break his knees, after a high. It's why he'd never participated a lot in recreational drugs. He was bad enough in these ways without an altered state of mind.

The night was overcast and chilly, no stars to be seen between the ever-present light pollution and heavy grey clouds. He took a detour towards the nearest edge of the sprawling, oddly-shaped lake the city framed, pausing within sight of it and staring towards its black depths. On a clear night, one could see the cityscape and the moon shining on its surface, but tonight it was windy and rough, and too dark to see anything much. It swallowed up all light like a void in space, a cold spot between stars.

It was hard not to just keep staring, or to come nearer still, to look up close and see if there were ghosts floating in the angry waves. To see if it was icy-cold just yet, if it might drag him down into those empty patches of space, until he might float away to somewhere quiet.

Disturbed by the imagery his mind was providing, Demyx shook himself away and hurried for his dingy little apartment on the edge of the west end, up the rusted metal stairs, inside, and into his warm bed. He tried to think of the stars instead of the blackness between them, huddled down underneath his blankets and sheets. He tried to think of them reflected on the smooth lake, or in the dark pools of Zexion's eyes, twinkling with them under the shifting lights at _No Name_. He tried to think of the way they warmed worlds and showed sailors the way; tried to think of how the artificial ones in Zexion's eyes led him into amazing new territories which were, probably, a better direction to go than where he'd been headed before.

Imagining Zexion soothed him for a time, and nearly carried him to sleep. Then he remembered the way the other man looked sometimes, after they had finished their business together in the dim world of his apartment. That strange something in his eyes Demyx still didn't understand. He felt shocked, at a realization that an expression like that one was so much like the patches between the stars, so much like the distressed _angry lonely empty_ feelings Demyx sometimes faced when he was alone. Was it exhaustion and wearing-off too-light intoxication and anxiety giving him these ideas? Or was something there he was only just beginning to understand? It was impossible to tell, but the thoughts kept him awake nearly until sunrise.

0.o.0.o.0

Two days later found Demyx descending the staircase and passing the ever-crowded dancefloor, back towards the backlit bar in _No Name_. His mind was calmer, though still troubled, but it was under control again now. He paused in surprise when he caught a glimpse of his redheaded friend. Axel's hands were bandaged thickly and maybe it was just the low lighting but… he seemed… no- no, when Demyx looked closer he was sure. Axel was down to half an eyebrow. The skin where the hair ought to be was reddened and the remaining hair, sprouting around the ring and towards his temple, looked distinctly singed. His nose shone brightly red too, and upon closer inspection, was even peeling. Zexion's back was to Demyx, elbows resting on the smooth bar top, poking at a basket of seasoned fries disinterestedly.

The blond wondered whether or not he wanted to know… but guessed this had to be the aftermath of whatever _amazing_ thing he'd missed the other night.

"Ooh, look who it is!" Axel cooed as Demyx slid into his now-usual seat at Zexion's right. "Our darling heartthrob lover-boy!"

"Oh stop. We're merely friends and you know that." Zexion said blandly, rolling his eyes but nodding in greeting to the blond.

"Shit, if that's what you call a friend I've been _sorely_ neglected!" Axel pouted convincingly. "You know how long I've wanted to get me some of that?" He gestured vaguely in the direction of Zexion's body. The smaller male pressed the pad of a finger to his lips, considering, then took in a sudden breath and replied in a deceptively monotonous tone.

"No." Axel scoffed, feigning offense.

"What, are we not _friends_ anymore?"

"There's absolutely no way in hell you're talking me into it."

"Ah…" Axel stuck out his pierced tongue and made someone's drink, still pouting. "You're no fun."

"You'll be lucky to get laid ever again with a face like that." Zexion noted. Demyx snickered and reached over to steal one of Zexion's fries.

"So, uh… what happened there?" He asked. Axel slid the finished glass down the bar towards a bleach-blond man Demyx had made the mistake of playing poker with one time and had avoided ever since- and cackled, puffing up his chest with absolute pride.

"It was fucking _fantastic_! I can't believe you were loser enough to skip out."

"Axel discovered fireworks and flammable drinks have serious consequences when combined." Zexion explained with a wave of the hand.

"Augh, you make it sound so much less wonderful than it was." Axel complained, rolling his eyes and making up a drink for Demyx. "You suck the whimsy out of _everything_ , sheeze." Zexion inclined his head, as if to say, _yes- that's my job_. "Where were you, anyway?" Axel added to Demyx after a breath, setting that pink something Demyx still hadn't had the courage to inquire about before him.

"Oh- a friend of mine turned twenty-two, so we had a little fling at a bar we like." He explained easily.

"Ooh, so you really _do_ have other friends? That puts you on the right side better than us!"

Zexion scoffed. "I for one don't want other friends." He added easily. "I can barely tolerate the ones I have." It might have been a trick of the light, but Demyx thought he saw Zexion shoot the briefest little wink his way. It made something inside of him tighten, but he grinned. " _You_ don't have other friends because you're a hazard to people's health."

"I don't deny." Axel agreed lightly. "I'm a trip and a half- you have to be the _best of the best_ to ride the Axel-train!"

"That was weirdly sexual…" Demyx muttered, leaning back slightly on his stool. "And I think I need a shower now- it's kinda gross." It wasn't really. Axel was pretty hot when he was sporting an uninjured face, but somehow Demyx still couldn't quite be attracted to him. He wasn't sure why. The redhead just laughed and swiped a hand over the bar, swatting Demyx's way.

"Oh you _know_ you want me- you just want Zexy more." He purred, even as Demyx laughed and ducked away from the abuse.

"I-I do not!" He shouted before he could help himself- and he wasn't _completely_ sure which half of that statement he was so adamantly denying. No one pushed the question though, conversation veering off into safer waters for a while. Axel was pining after a promotion and Zexion was thinking about his thesis- Demyx still found it hard to believe that young heart-shaped face belonged to a man almost three years older than him. That he was so far along in his schooling, however, was no surprise at all. He was sort of weirdly attached to learning, Demyx realized. He never spoke of it, but he couldn't help but find it kind of cute.

Axel's phone went off several times in a single hour, him trying to ignore it pointedly, though growing increasingly irritated by its buzzing- and presumably the person on the other line- as the night wore on. Eventually, Zexion sighed and dared to ask.

"Who are you ignoring this time?"

"Fucking _Serah_." Axel drawled, tossing a rather abused looking phone Zexion's way. "She's just _sure_ that Claire will forgive me if I try, and that I really ought to give that a go- but dammit if I can't get it through her little pink head that I don't _want_ _to try_." Zexion hummed his sympathy, tapping through the phone's call log curiously.

"You may have made a mistake in her." Demyx noted thoughtfully, poking at his half-consumed beverage with the plastic stirrer. "Something tells me her sister wouldn't be stalking you about it if she wasn't making her." Axel growled and scrubbed the already clean bar roughly with his cloth.

"Yeah, yeah- okay. So the crazy is strong with this one. _Got it_. Now how do I get rid of her?"

"We could do the gay lover thing again." Zexion offered. Axel sighed.

" _If only_. But these days, everyone and their brother knows I swing whichever way- doesn't hold the shock-factor it used to."

"That's what you get for being a slut." The dark haired man shrugged.

"Fff, says the guy with the blond-kink."

"Say what-?" Demyx squeaked, head whipping around to stare between Axel and Zexion's face. The shorter male was turning red about the ears, but shook his head.

"I do _not_ …" He tried to convince, but his friend was quicker on the draw this round.

"Mm-hmm. Demyx is an anomaly. Along with Prompto. And John Smith. And _Larxene_. Face it- all your fuck-friends are blonds."

"It has been widely agreed that Larxene was an enormous mistake, and we do not speak of it." Zexion insisted. "And you're ignoring other factors looking for your patterns. It's not very scientific of you."

"Yeah, well I've got a certificate calling me a good bartender and a GED. Scientist I am not."

"Aw, I thought I was special…" Demyx sighed dramatically, leaning his elbows on the table. Zexion sputtered- actually _sputtered_ \- in some strange place between insisting that Demyx was, and that he wasn't. Demyx tried not to grin. He really did. It was just something of a triumph he hadn't known he needed. That little nest of shame inside shrunk just the smallest amount, as the reaction sank in. He'd never seen Zexion this way, but it didn't take even a second for him to be sure that he liked it.

Axel cackled and moved on from his teasing, back onto the subject at hand, and Zexion reluctantly worked out a scheme in removing the ex-girlfriend from Axel's life for him. Demyx floated through the rest of the evening, feeling a little bit like he'd been drugged. Or maybe he was just happy.

0.o.0.o.0

"You don't have to make breakfast." Zexion said coolly as he leaned against the counter of his tiny kitchen, watching Demyx expertly fold sandwich ham into a large omelet. "I don't normally eat it." The blond scoffed at him over a bare shoulder.

"And that's why you're so short." He replied decisively. "Breakfast is the most important meal of the day- and the most delicious." He slid the lightly browned egg onto a plate and pushed it towards his… friend? Playmate? What would you even call this, now? It was no longer a one night stand, that much was for certain… but it wasn't a proper relationship either. Zexion was adamant about having no use for one and Demyx was pretty sure he felt similarly these days, and yet… here he was in some other man's apartment, cooking breakfast half-naked because cooking was always what he did on morning-afters. It was a hard concept to wrap his mind around, and growing no simpler as time progressed.

"Insulting a man in his own home." Zexion tutted, shaking his head in disappointment. "Axel is a bad influence on you."

"Says the guy who regularly insults the man mixing his drinks." Demyx cut in with a grin, already halfway through the making of his own omelet. Zexion chuckled but jabbed him in the ribs with the end of his fork. Demyx yelped and twitched away from the attack, taking the handle of the pan with him while he danced out of reach, sticking a tongue out playfully.

"Touché." Zexion relented with a rare but striking smile, visible and gorgeous even partially obscured as it was by the ever-present curtain of hair. Demyx cackled in his victory, returning the pan to the flame only when Zexion was contentedly chewing, back in position against the counter. These times had become routine, much to Demyx's relief. He used to worry about them, waking up in an empty bed in Zexion's apartment, wondering just how welcome he might be now that the… the stress-relieving part of his visit had well ended. He was pretty confident in them now, though. Whatever this… thing they did sometimes was, they were definitely friends- and in Demyx's mind, a friend is always welcome to make you breakfast.

He flipped the heat off and ran water in the pan, before nudging Zexion with his hip until the shorter man led him back into the seating side of the living space, where they plopped down side-by-side on the floor, backs up against the lumpy sofa. Demyx sipped his coffee gratefully and munched away at his omelet, enjoying the warmth of Zexion's properly-functioning heating and morning light from the windows, both. The silence that stretched between them was comfortable, companionable, and neither seemed intent on breaking it until two forks rested on empty plates, and second cups of coffee had been taken and sweetened.

"I'll be terribly busy for a while." Zexion said conversationally, stretching socked feet out under the coffee table as Demyx crossed his legs at his side.

"Me too." The blond agreed with a smile. "Lots to do before the Christmas break. Exams and projects…" Zexion glanced up at him, looking distantly pleased.

"I forget you're in school." He admitted. Demyx snickered.

"Well, it's not smart-people school like yours. But I'm only halfway finished with this composition I need to be able to perform, so it's pretty much going to own my soul for a couple of weeks."

"Axel will hate us." Their coffee mugs clinked together in a kind of toast, both smiling.

"Eh, he'd have other friends if he didn't keep setting people on fire."

"No he wouldn't." Zexion chuckled the statement out, leaning back and gazing at the whitewashed ceiling. "He's too intense for too many close friends. Even he has limited fuel supplies." Demyx hummed, drinking deeply from his heated beverage, and took to watching Zexion's profile.

"I think I know somebody he might like." He said after a while, contemplatively. "The guy's kind of intense too, just… quieter about it." Zexion hummed to prove he was listening, so Demyx pushed onwards. "And he's really good with bullshit. Honestly, I think he kind of enjoys the drama of it- so he'd like someone a little bit crazy."

"It's not wise to play matchmaker, you know." Zexion mused, cupping his mug in both hands. "You might find yourself in a bind."

"Yeah, but that's not really what I'm saying." Demyx conceded, running fingers through his bedhead. "I just think, y'know… maybe we should all hang out. Sometime." He ducked his head, suddenly feeling pretty lame and wondering if this whole _we could all be friends_ idea was stupid to begin with. He wasn't even sure where he was going with it, really. It just… he didn't think it through. Zexion hummed again, and after a while, shrugged.

"I suppose there's no harm in it." He relented at last. Demyx let out a breath of relief. "When the semester is out of the way and everything has normalized again. If you say these other friends of yours are cool, I'm sure it would be fun." Demyx glanced up again, beaming. Yeah, maybe… maybe it would be fun. And they could hang out. And no one would feel too weird about… everything, after that. Even though the Hart brothers didn't know about he and Zexion… but then- Demyx had to remind himself- there was no _he and Zexion_ , really. This wasn't a relationship. It was…

Okay, he still couldn't define it. And… maybe that was starting to bother him.

"Do you go home for the holidays?" Zexion asked out of the blue, startling his guest out of his thoughts.

"Oh- no. I live off campus, so I just kinda… stick around." Demyx explained uncomfortably, shifting in his seat. "A-and you?"

"My home is here." Zexion answered smoothly. "I'm not much for holidays, but… if your other friends are away, I'll be reachable."

"Heh, how about a bad movie night?" Demyx offered, relieved to have the opportunity to veer the conversation a bit further from homes and families. If they were both going to be alone, then… then maybe they didn't have to be. Demyx could breathe a little easier at the thought. No family was perfect, he knew that well, but his was… a bit more inaccessible than most. At least when it came to him. He didn't like to explain it.

"Alright."

"My place or yours?" Demyx asked cheerily, a warm feeling swelling through him to smother out the twisting shadow that thoughts of home always seemed to assault him with.

"Where do you live?" Zexion asked simply, and Demyx thought nothing at all of telling him in just as simple of terms.

"On Seventh Street, just passed the Avon subway stop." He faltered, hesitated, when the lightness dissipated from between them and Zexion's partially-obscured expression darkened right before his eyes. There was that _something_ again, Demyx realized with a start. That unnamable thing that made his hair stand on end to think about. That quality to Zexion's eyes which made them seem like an abyss, like an underwater chasm too deep and treacherous to venture near. He couldn't understand it. It was just an address… so why?

"That's in the west end." Zexion muttered at last, frowning.

"Uh… yeah." He wouldn't have pegged the shorter man for a snob, but… sure, the west end was pretty dodgy, but it wasn't _that_ awful. If you kept to yourself and didn't wander around it was okay- and anyway, it's not like Demyx lived far in, near the bomb-damaged side of town in the slums. It didn't add up. It was weird, on a list of many weirdness's that made up Zexion's personality. Demyx tried to learn and accept things like this, but sometimes they were just… too random.

"I'm not… a big fan of that district." His voice was low, wavering just slightly, and it was that tone which melted away Demyx's frustration almost as soon as it had risen. Was he… afraid? He was sure Zexion was never afraid of anything- at least not to a point where he'd be willing to admit to as much- but he found himself wondering on that, in the morning light as he stared at the older man and really considered him. There was a lot he didn't know. Maybe some of the random things had reasons, and maybe Demyx just needed to respect them.

"…Okay." He said, just as quietly, after a while of thought. "Your place it is then. It's a date!" He backpedaled as quickly as he'd said it, face flushing with color even as Zexion watched him incredulously. "I-I mean! Not a _date_ , but just a date- like an appointment."

Zexion let out a little breath and smirked. "Right, then. I suppose it is."

0.o.0.o.0

It was stupid.

It was _stupid_ and dim-witted and ill-advised.

Truthfully, Demyx wasn't even sure how it happened. One moment, Irvine was telling him about how things hadn't worked out with Selphie, and he was expressing his condolences, and the next…

Well, the next found him tangled up in the backseat of a car in a snowy parking lot, legs locked around familiar hips but careful not to utter a name because the one on the tip of his tongue, the one desperate to peel from his lips was _not_ Irvine's. And then it had ended, sooner than Demyx had really expected it to, and it was _this_ intimacy which widened the uncomfortable little cluster of shame inside of him, _this_ moment which brought it at long last close enough to touch his ever-bleeding heart. This moment where it broke. He did up the buckle of his belt, having shimmied shakily back into his jeans, and didn't bother to even look for his discarded woolen cap or gloves. His coat was on, and that was enough. He just had to get _away_.

"Never- _never again_." He said firmly to the cowboy tidying up his ponytail. His voice shook, and it wasn't at all from a rekindling of old affections he'd long forgotten. Blood was rushing through his limbs, warming them unnaturally in what should have been a post-coital buzz, but instead it pulsed adrenaline into him, triggering that pesky fight or flight reflex (Just flight. Really it was only ever just flight) and he stumbled out of the car and onto the icy pavement. " _Never_." He repeated, half into the wind. Irvine looked guilty, looked like he might be about to apologize, but Demyx really didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to hear anything he had to say right now- maybe never again. Not that looking in the mirror would be any easier.

Why did he feel so much like he had betrayed someone? Why did he feel so strikingly nasty, like he had been untrue, unfaithful, like he had _cheated_ on someone?

He was single. He was.

But he wasn't, was he?

Not really. Not when his heart and mind were in such agreement, not when they twisted and merged inside of him over a single idea, turning every dirty thought into the scent of lavender and early morning coffee. Of a stunning smile that so rarely peeked out from between the heavy clouds that were a chilly and prickly personality. Of the way Demyx had thought he could just dance away from any unwanted feelings, could stand amongst overloud music and move his body until he couldn't feel anything but the base echoing deep in his gut. He really was an _idiot_. An idiot who didn't know how to not feel.

The panic was real, fueling his steps as he ran home, hardly noticing the burning in his ears and throat from the cold night wind over the sick feeling in his gut and the furious, inward-facing scorn smoldering in his chest. He felt dirty, felt used, but it was nothing compared to the all-encompassing _guilt_. He'd have to tell Zexion, he'd _have_ to. He couldn't keep this inside or it would kill him- he had no doubt in it.

Those disturbing thoughts about the lake or the sky swallowing him up forever would surely take power from a secret like this, and through it take power of him. He was afraid of it, of the way he would feel if he allowed this mental infection to fester. Afraid of what he might do.

The shower was scalding hot, and he remained in it until it ran cold, then staggered shivering onto the tiled floor of his bathroom. He scrubbed the towel over his body and stumbled into clean clothes, unsure even after the time spent, what exactly he was going to do. His mind was no calmer for the shower, but at least the lingering muscle memory of Irvine's fingers on his skin had gone.

It was late, after three, but Zexion never slept much, right? Demyx was sure he'd been told that before. Something about… about some inventor he admired having never slept more than two hours at a time all his lifelong. Yes, there was that… Zexion had used it to justify his nighttime habits with one of his and Axel's transient friends one time. Demyx remembered. His fingers shook as he fumbled through the directory in his phone, finding the number and mashing _call_.

It rang for a long time, each buzzing note tightening something in Demyx's shoulders just a notch further- until finally, it clicked.

" _Hello?"_ His voice was smooth as ever, if tired, and Demyx felt the viciously guilty patch inside of him- once a nest, now a gaping hole- expand just a bit more.

"I-I'm sorry." He said quickly, on reflex, before anything else could come out. "I know it's late." There was silence, perhaps as Zexion checked the clock on his desk. He heard shuffling. Maybe the older man shrugged.

" _It's not important."_ He brushed the apology off without effort. _"What's the matter?"_

Demyx's throat closed. He had to screw his eyes closed tightly and grit his teeth in order to speak at all. "I screwed up." He admitted desperately. "I _really_ screwed up."

0.o.0.o.0

He was sitting on the floor in Zexion's warm apartment, mug of tea balanced between his hands. Zexion had insisted upon it instead of coffee. Apparently, caffeine was meant to be bad for the nerves, and chamomile soothing. Demyx wasn't as sure, but the scent drifting up with the steam was calming a bit, and the flavor wasn't so bad after a couple of spoons of sugar. Really, he was just glad the other man would have him here, after everything he had pulled.

Technically, he had no reason to be angered by the deed- only by the late night call and panic attack he'd witnessed as aftermath- but Demyx couldn't shake the feeling that he had done something terribly, terribly wrong, and that Zexion was the victim of it. The older man sat across from him, on the edge of the beanbag chair, sipping at his own tea gingerly and watching him. Demyx couldn't look up, but he could feel the eyes on him, sense the uncertain anticipation in the air. Zexion was waiting. The musician swallowed thickly and willed the world to either lend him the courage to speak, or else swallow him up so he'd never have to again.

"I…" He murmured at long last, staring into the pale depths of his cup of tea so that he didn't have to look the other man in the eye. "I don't know what I was thinking. H-he just… he was so worked up and I was just-" What? Lonely? Curious? Demyx still wasn't sure, even after a few hours restless sleep and the subway trip through the snowy streets to Zexion's apartment. He'd done nothing but think over the last several hours, but it wasn't at all a productive process.

"That was your first mistake." Zexion answered evenly, not scornful, not angry, just matter-of-fact. "You put yourself in a vulnerable position. You gave him an opportunity he could exploit."

"I-I don't think he meant to." Demyx defended automatically. "He was just upset, and I think he might've been drinking before I even got there, and…" He bit his lower lip, feeling like a monster.

"Maybe not," Zexion agreed. "But not everyone is pure of intention, Demyx. You have to accept the fact that he maybe just wanted to be distracted, and knew you would." Demyx had to nod in agreement to that. Even he wasn't _that_ big of a fool. He'd known before it was even over that he was being used. He was the rebound this time, and Irvine was never the kind to wait and mourn before jumping headlong into something new. It should have been that to bother him. It should have been the way something he'd once described as love had been so soiled by a night like last night… a memory ruined by feelings that were gone, and yet somehow still taken advantage of. He merely felt bad for Irvine, and not as angry at him as he had been at first. He was only ever really angry at himself in truth, and difficult as it was to admit it, he knew why.

Zexion sat across from him calmly, top two buttons of his work shirt undone since meeting Demyx at the door just after his morning shift. His neck was long and slender, just the slightest glimpse of his sharp collar peeking out from behind the white cotton. He looked sympathetic, largely unperturbed, and Demyx couldn't help but wonder if he could really find it in him to care so little, or if he was just very good at pretending. Sometimes he seemed so sensitive, and Demyx was almost sure at times, that there was something in an undercurrent between them, something more real than the teasing they received at Axel's hands implied. He'd considered the possibility that he was imagining things, that he was projecting his feelings onto the other man… but lately he'd noticed little movements that made him reconsider. That being said, Zexion didn't look hurt or jealous at all, to be talking about the blond being with someone else. So which was it?

Demyx wished he was better at pretending.

"Did you love him?" Zexion asked after a while, startling Demyx out of his thoughts enough that he met the dark-eyed gaze full on for the first time. The heavy curtain of hair was swept aside, pinned temporarily behind one ear, so that the older man could study him clearly. Demyx faltered under the expression he couldn't read, biting down on his lower lip.

"Well… yeah. I mean, I thought I did, for a while."

"There was your other mistake." Zexion surmised thoughtfully. "Never love." He drained the last of the tea from his cup, and merely shrugged in response to Demyx's incredulous expression. "To love someone is to allow them power over you. People will almost always use that power to hurt you." Demyx couldn't resist the urge to wince, watching as Zexion placed the mug quietly on the table. What an ugly thought… what a terrible way to see the world. For a while he didn't know how to respond, and when he managed his voice was low, sorrowful.

"That's a very… bleak way to look at it."

"Maybe." Zexion leaned back on his hands, raising his gaze to the ceiling over Demyx's head. "But it's also realistic, don't you think? Even most romantics will agree that nearly every love story ends in tragedy of one kind or another- unless one is curiously fortunate and finds that mythical 'One' on the very first try." He shrugged a little, frowning. "But finding them at all is quite a feat to manage. Over seven billion people on this earth and, assuming everyone is meant for someone and we only have the prime of our lives to meet and connect with that person, it's statistically impossible to make the match." For someone who claimed to have no use for these things, Zexion sure seemed to have put a lot of thought into it. Demyx's eyebrows furrowed, the mug between his palms all but forgotten in favor of watching him riddle it out aloud.

"You really think so?" He pressed. "No room for hope?" Zexion, still frowning, shrugged.

"I can't stop you, but I think it's foolish. I think the majority of us are better off without. Better not to waste all those resources." Demyx watched the pale face as he considered it, wondering if Zexion really believed that, or if he just wanted to. He didn't look pleased with himself the way he did when correcting others on most subjects, Demyx noted. He didn't look pleased at all. In fact, if Demyx was to hazard a guess, he'd label that guarded expression _misery_. His heart ached, and he shook his head a little, sadly.

"Mm… no." He said at last. "I'm not buying it."

"What?" Zexion's expression snapped down, to level with Demyx's, frown locked firmly onto pale lips.

"I'm not buying it." He repeated, feeling a gentle little smile pull at his lips. Despite everything, despite the glare he was receiving across the coffee table, and the way he'd screwed up impressively, and the way nothing ever seemed to go along with plans in his life, he felt a strange security in this newly-made decision. His heart ached for Zexion, for all that effort he seemed to put into keeping distance between himself and anything of real value. In that moment, his decision was made. He couldn't guess if it was in any way right, or if he'd just suffer for it more later, but he couldn't bring himself to doubt it anymore, either. "Hate to break it to you, but you don't make a very good cynic, Zexy. You're too poetic to really believe all that. You're more a novelist than a scientist, far as I can tell."

Zexion seemed struck, sitting stock-still for several breaths before the hair swung back over his eyes at the slightest shake of the head, as if a curtain protecting him from outside attack, or maybe just ideas he didn't want to have.

"Then you don't know me very well at all." Zexion's voice was quiet when he spoke, enough so to give Demyx pause, make him hesitate. He watched the other closely, wondering what exactly that strange thing was that he saw in those indigo eyes sometimes… what it was, shining in them now. He was reminded uncomfortably of the empty patches of space between stars. A chord had been struck here, that much was undeniable, but it was too soon to say if it might be in some way a good one, or just one more disaster.

"…Maybe not." Demyx relented at last, shrugging and finishing off his now-cooled tea too. He felt sure though, more sure than he'd felt about anything in such a long time. He _did_ have Zexion pinned down, if only on this one thing, and the wheels had begun turning at insane speeds in his head. Whatever that darkness in Zexion's expression meant, maybe there was a chance Demyx could help to alleviate it, at least a little. Maybe there was a chance he could do something _good_ for a change. This could change… well, a lot of things.

"Thanks for the pep talk, Zexy." Demyx said a short time later, snatching up Zexion's discarded mug and whisking himself into the kitchen, to run water in both. "And the tea, too! You were right. It is better for the nerves." He offered his standoffish friend a blinding smile, but dared not to take it further than that. Zexion seemed off kilter after being called out, unhappy, and Demyx knew that pushing the limits too much in one sitting could only end badly. It was time to bow out for now, and he could do so with grace. "I've got to run. Have to make sure this thing I've been working on gets turned in on time." Zexion followed him through the tiny apartment, holding out his hat for him as the blond zipped up the front of his coat.

"Sure." He said simply. "Take it easy, Demyx."

"Always do!" The blond promised with a wink, pushing the hat down over his messy hair and offering the shorter man a little wave. "And thanks, again." For being understanding. For being kind. For opening up something uncomfortable and not _completely_ shutting down like he could have done. Zexion waved him off, and Demyx's mind whirred into overtime as he descended the stairs and headed for home. He had a lot to think about.

0.o.0.o.0

"Hey…" Demyx murmured over his text book, sprawled out on the shoddy greyish carpet of his living room on his stomach, socked feet kicking through the air casually. "Do you ever think somebody you know needs help?"

"What, like psych help? Pfft- all the time." Roxas answered sardonically, smirking around the rim of his canned soda, curled up in the abused butterfly chair to one side. "I hang out with you people, don't I?"

"I don't mean like _that_!" Demyx laughed, knocking his forehead down against the pages before looking up again. "I mean like… like something's been bothering them, maybe for a long time, and they can't beat it by themselves." Sora, propped up against the thin wall to Demyx's left, tapped his pen on his notebook and gazed at the ceiling, humming to himself.

"I don't know. I guess?"

"Still sounds like a mental help thing to me." Roxas added unhelpfully. Sora flicked his pen at him.

"Hey, stop it- I don't think Dem's just joking about this one." He admonished, even as he shifted onto his hands and knees, crawling across the floor towards his brother. He put out a hand for his pen. "And give that back to me." Roxas sighed and dropped the projectile into Sora's palm, but shook his head.

"Okay, fine. So, this theoretical person," He said, turning stunningly blue eyes back on his blond friend, "Has like… some kind of trauma or something, and you think you should help them?" Demyx grimaced at the wording, wondering privately if he shouldn't have brought it up at all. Sometimes he forgot to prepare himself for this special brand of blunt honesty.

"Not exactly…" He hedged. "Or at least, I'm not really sure. It's more of just a gut feeling. See, he sort of…" He sighed too. "It's kind of more that the things he says and what he does don't really… match up sometimes."

"Maybe he's just two-faced." Roxas offered with a shrug. Sora huffed and punched his knee, having well abandoned his little nest of study materials against the wall in favor of the greatly more interesting gossip around him.

"Not like that either." Demyx argued, pushing himself up onto his knees, to rescue his neck from the growing crick and to get on more level ground with the Hart brothers. "It's more like he says mean things, but when it comes down to it he doesn't usually _do_ mean things. Or like… he treats the world like some awful dog-eat-dog place but he doesn't really live it."

"Oh! So then he's like Rox." Sora decided with a nod, face clearing of the expression of confused concentration which had been twisting his round features gradually since the conversation began.

"Excuse you!" Roxas retorted, blushing. "I'll have you know I am every bit as mean and scary as people think I am." The laughter from the other two more then suggested they didn't think he was particularly scary at all. Roxas groaned and finished off his drink, crunching it between his palms. His gaze darted between his brother and friend, as if wondering which of them deserved a crushed can to the face more. "Whatever. So the point is, you've got this gut-feeling about the guy. Are you sure you're not just making it up?" At this, Demyx faltered, eyes straying down to his open textbook, deft fingers picking at the worn corners of stacked pages nervously.

"…I don't think so." He said at long last, frowning. "I mean, I could be, but…" He shook his head.

"Have you asked him about it?" Sora asked lightly. "Maybe he just doesn't know you'd be there to listen, if he wanted to talk."

"Or maybe he thinks talking is for girls." Sora punched Roxas again, and he returned fire in the form of a foot on the top of his brother's head, pushing him down and away.

"Oh, the abuse! Help!" The brunet scrambled away from the attack and out of reach, brandishing his pen over his shoulder like a pocket knife. Demyx shifted off of his knees, legs folding casually in front of him instead. He couldn't tell if Zexion might think talking was 'for girls' as Roxas had so eloquently suggested, but something told him it would be a huge mistake just to outright ask about it. He was good at acting like he didn't care about anything, but Demyx saw in him sometimes a quiet anxiety, an almost timid glimmer of something, or a twitch which made him wonder more and more just how much of the prickly exterior was just for show. No, if Zexion was as sensitive as Demyx thought he might be, outright calling his bluff might just hurt him more. Maybe… maybe if he eased into it? Sort of… gently?

"I just want to help him out." He admitted after a while of thought, once Sora had calmed down and Roxas had unloaded his can of justice on his brother's cowering form. "I really like him." Those words, it seemed, were what really sparked the undivided attention of both guests in Demyx's apartment. Two pairs of near-identical blue eyes landed on him in the same instant, and stuck there.

"Whoa, you mean _like_?" Sora prodded, grin spreading across his features before he'd even received his answer. Demyx made a sound low in his throat and covered his suddenly burning face. Oops. "Is it somebody we know-?"

"Of course not." Roxas answered on Demyx's behalf, feet swung down onto the carpet so he could lean forward to look more intently, elbows rested on his knees. "Dem wouldn't be using all the vague 'this guy' stuff if we did. He'd've spilled his guts by now." Demyx hated the way Roxas was right. He also hated the way the youngest of them was the voice of reason, almost the parent in their little group. He was the only one who ever dared to tell Kairi her skirt was unflatteringly tight, or that Sora was scaring the locals with his vivacious excitability… and he was the one who never let Demyx forget how he sometimes talked way too much. He groaned, face still in his hands, and seriously considered locking himself in his closet and never reemerging again. That was, until the younger blond spoke again. "So whatever the thing is, it's getting in the way of you and him."

"There is no _me and him_." Demyx corrected quickly, still red about the face but peeking up from between his fingers now.

"But you want there to be."

"Well…" Demyx's hands dropped to his lap uselessly. He swallowed, sighed out his nose, and took the plunge he'd been avoiding for… for months, now, if he was honest. "Yeah." There. He admitted it. He wanted Zexion. And not just in the way they used one another from time to time. He wanted to find out how it felt to lace his fingers between those pale, never-quite-warm ones. He wanted to wake up beside him the way they sometimes fell asleep. He wanted to be near him.

Roxas nodded and concluded, "Then talk to him about it." Demyx, shocked from his thoughts, blinked and looked up.

"Huh?"

"Talk to him." Roxas repeated simply, shrugging. "Just come out and say what you want to. What's the worst that could happen?" Demyx blinked again, half torn between desires to laugh, and to throw something. It wasn't that _simple_. Not with _Zexion_. Nothing with Zexion was ever as simple as it was supposed to be. Case in point: the one night stands. The casual sex that was supposed to be free of all these emotional hang-ups. And what was the _worst_ that could happen? Sheeze…

"It could hurt him."

Roxas shook his head and pointed an accusing finger Demyx's way, frowning outright now. "See, you and Sora, you have this same stupid problem." Demyx was taken aback, but Sora crossed his arms at his side, pouting.

"What's that?"

"You're too _nice_ to everyone." Roxas accused flatly. "You won't ever risk hurting somebody's feelings, even if it's good for them, and then you get all knocked around because people know you'll _let_ them." Demyx leaned back on his hands, frowning deeply, and was formulating an argument- it is _not_ a problem to be nice, the world is ugly enough without everyone stepping on everybody else, _thank-you-very-much_ \- but it was Sora who retorted first, on the behalf of them both… for which Demyx probably should have been grateful.

"Yeah, and you-?" He mirrored his half-brother's pose, leaning forward aggressively and pointing the accusing finger right back.

"Me- I tell people the truth. I tell them to go straight to hell when they deserve it." He answered with a sagely nod. "They might not like me, but they sure as hell will _respect_ me if I have anything to say about it."

"How's _that_ a good way to live?"

"Better than sniveling around and hoping other people will treat you the way you treat them, just out of the goodness of their hearts." Roxas said firmly. Sora huffed, but Demyx sighed in defeat. It didn't sound good, not in the least… but maybe his friend had a point. In his own… Roxas-way. After all, wasn't it his squishy little romantic-thinking ways that got him into this mess in the first place? Wasn't it his too-tender heart that got him into _most_ messes he found himself in? Maybe he should be firm. Maybe he should stick his neck out there with some courage- just this once. Just… because it was for a very, very good reason.

"Yeah, okay. Fine." He relented lowly, shifting back towards his homework. He frowned at his book, but picked up the orange highlighter and tried to tell himself he'd be capable of concentrating if he _really_ tried.

"We ever gonna to meet him?" Sora asked after a while, having gotten the frustration out of his system by throwing the crushed soda can back at Roxas' head. Demyx shrugged, but a smile pulled at his lips.

"I want you to." He admitted. "He and his friend… you'd like them."

"Mmkay." Roxas replied amiably. "Whenever you want."

Oh he had _no idea_ , Demyx thought, chancing a glance up at the younger man on the chair and feeling distracted from his own worries for just the moment. He had no idea what he was getting himself into with that agreement. Demyx couldn't help but smirk at the thought of he and Axel, both self-proclaimed kings of blunt honesty and sass, under the same roof. Either they'd fight to the death, or combine their forces and be unstoppable. Oh, yes… that'd be a day for the record books.

Now… if he could just figure things out with Zexion, a moment like that could be possible.

0.o.0.o.0

Demyx snuggled down on Zexion's lumpy couch, throw tossed over his legs and eyes on the shorter man as he tinkered with the finicky television set against the wall. The thing had been fondly dubbed The Zombie at their first movie-night around Christmas, after its striking resemblance to a member of the undead- doing nothing well or with much speed, yet wobbling through its pitiful, over-lived existence the best it could. Probably mindlessly seeking someone's brains.

A metaphor for television overall, probably.

Zexion twisted the AV cord in its port, trying to get something loose in there to catch, and then offered two hard smacks to the plastic side of the old electronic's frame. The picture flickered on, their movie ready to resume.

"Woo, alright!" Demyx cheered, throwing his hands up into the air and laughing at the dramatic stage-bow Zexion offered him for applause. "You have the magic touch!"

" _Oh my_ \- that was a little sexual." Zexion replied smoothly, stepping over their snack-laden coffee table to curl back up against the couch's unoccupied corner, tucking his feet under Demyx's blanket. The younger male choked in embarrassment, to which Zexion only chuckled and reached for their steadily-emptying package of oreos.

"Yeah, well- maybe you're irresistible." Demyx managed after a moment, reaching to snag a cookie too. Zexion rolled his eyes back towards the screen. Demyx followed suit. For a time they just watched the over-acted, strangely shot film which bounced slightly on the square screen before them, Zexion nibbling on his sweets and looking vaguely puzzled, Demyx struggling to keep his mind on the subject at hand. It wandered without his consent, to the same places it had been for a while now. To dark patches and nervous wonders, to things to do and say, and not to say. To Zexion. Not unlike the nervous habit of picking at his lip with his fingers, once Demyx had noticed the little twitches and pauses, the blank expression which crossed a pale face sometimes just before a smartass remark could be made, it became utterly impossible _not_ to notice them. He was strange. Zexion was absolutely strange and to his credit he didn't deny it, but it was slowly and surely driving Demyx insane. To not understand, and to need to.

Now, there were many things in life Demyx did not and would not ever understand. Like Zexion and his oddness, Demyx was open and unafraid in admitting that he was not the sharpest tool in the shed. It usually bothered him minimally; just an aspect of himself which, while regrettable, would always be following him and could not be removed. In this case, though, he wanted more. And more importantly, Zexion deserved more from him.

"I suppose you're right." Zexion said at last, following up with a conversation which had fizzled out earlier, his head tilted to one side as he seriously considered the actor. "Depp is almost charming in this. I'm not normally a fan." Demyx laughed breathily, turning his gaze from the moving screen he hadn't really been watching to the other man. He was still focused on the movie, leaving the blond an opportunity to study him at profile in the warm incandescent light.

"I get why." He replied easily. "But I think it's all that crazy over-doing that _caused_ my fondness for him." Zexion nodded thoughtfully, watching the pale-faced character march through the world of muted colors towards a cliff which really- considering the name- should have been fenced off or something. They fell into silence again, Demyx finding himself stuck watching Zexion watch the movie until the credits began to roll- the girl and the monster united in death (un-death?), the storyline cleaned up as much as one might expect, and the out of place pop-ish music drifting quietly through the living room. Demyx watched the words roll by without really seeing them, forgetting to remind himself to _concentrate_ , for god's sake.

"Maybe we should do a _good_ movie night, next time." Zexion mused, leaning back against the arm of the couch and stretching thin arms above his head. "We could watch _Vertigo_ and _The Breakfast Club_." Demyx nodded distractedly, mind only half in the present at this point.

"Heh, I love that movie… but I'll cry- so you have to promise not to tease."

"I make no such promises." Zexion declared, raising his chin. "Then again… perhaps an arrangement might be made where two parties mutually agree that no crying of any kind occurred." He was smiling, eyebrows quirked, and Demyx couldn't help but chuckle. Yeah, see- Zexy was a softie too. In his own, dysfunctional way. "Who were you?"

Demyx startled, certain he'd missed something. "Huh-?"

"Of the characters- their types. Who were you, growing up?"

"Oh!" Demyx flushed in embarrassment, reaching to scratch his fingers through his hair sheepishly. "Oh, I dunno. I was a band geek, so… not quite any of them. Guess probably the brain- except not smart." Zexion frowned slightly, but Demyx couldn't pin down exactly why. "And you? Ooh, let me guess! You were mad popular, in all the social clubs like Molly Ringwald." He smiled, the ribbing a concentrated effort to wash whatever displeased Zexion out of his mind. His expression shifted back to one of amusement, and Demyx heaved an internal sigh of relief.

"I wouldn't say that." He corrected humorously. "I suppose I was a little bit the basket case, except also valedictorian. That angered some people." Demyx snorted and tried to imagine Zexion in thick layers of dark clothing, charcoal much heavier than Axel's ever-present eyeliner around his stunning eyes, doing things in the back of the class just to weird people out. The image was distracting, hilarious, and almost took control of his brain away from the ever-present worries. Almost. They crept back in like little cockroaches, picking apart every other thought and skittering across his mind invasively.

"Also, I was too busy getting involved in gang activities for many extracurriculars at school."

"Wait- _what_?" Demyx jumped, eyes focusing on Zexion properly in an instant, wide and disbelieving. The older man laughed.

"That got your attention!"

Demyx flushed immediately, looking away and letting out a nervous sound which should have been a laugh, but wasn't quite.

"You've been very distractible lately." Zexion added in all seriousness. "Is something the matter?"

Phew, what a loaded question that was. Something was always the matter, it seemed, but lately that something had been… more difficult to ignore and float passed than the usual anxieties. Demyx had tried not thinking about it, but it refused to be ignored. He'd thought about bringing it up a number of times before, but he simply lacked the courage. Grimacing, he peered back up towards the other man, who was watching him intently, and took a moment to study him. He didn't seem especially agitated or tired, tonight. He'd even been in a good mood, hardly even bothering to insert any venom at all into his chiding of Demyx getting him hooked back on processed sweets (apparently, it was a long rehabilitation process when he first moved off-campus and discovered he couldn't afford to keep a family-sized bag of skittles in his desk drawer at all times). What's more, he seemed… concerned. Sincerely concerned. Feeling no braver, but much less up against a wall, Demyx shrugged a little, nodded a little, and tried hard to hold that striking gaze.

"Just… been thinking too much, I guess."

Zexion nodded slightly, a single motion, shifting to tuck some of his bangs back behind an ear, clearing up more of his line of vision- presumably for observing. Demyx felt like it was a wall between them opening up, though. He doubted it was meant that way, but it felt like a little piece of armor Zexion wore, and whenever he put it aside Demyx couldn't help but relax a little, feeling like he'd been invited into something a little more intimate than what shone on the outside.

"Worrying all the time about stuff… like… d-do you ever do that?"

"I'm not sure..." Zexion answered honestly. "Perhaps." Demyx nodded a little.

"I just feel like I…" He sighed, shook his head, and started again. "Can I ask you something?" Zexion nodded, even as thin eyebrows furrowed over his eyes. Demyx forced himself to hold that gaze, which is exactly why he lacked the power to keep his voice from shaking. Cowards like him had to pick and choose where to make use of their extremely limited bravery supplies. "You want to go out sometime?" This time, it was Zexion who seemed startled.

"How do you mean-?"

"I mean like…" Demyx bit his lips and forced a little breath out through his nose. He was _way_ too old to be _this_ awkward at asking someone out. Sheeze, man. "Properly. You and me." Zexion blinked, looking a bit like a deer caught in headlights, but as it sunk in his eyes began to dart around, down, side to side, anywhere but Demyx's face.

"…You know that I don't do that." He said tightly. Demyx winced.

"I-I know not usually. But this isn't… don't you think…" He took in a few breaths and let them out, wishing he was better with spoken words. Serenading really could only take you so far.

"What we do sometimes has nothing to do with affection, Demyx. I thought you understood." The tone had become icy all of the sudden, scathing. It put Demyx's teeth on edge and tightened the muscles in his back with fear, and… anger? He knew Zexion had some issues, he knew that he liked to live this illusion- so why should he be pissed that he didn't fold right away? Impatient idiot. Even as he scolded himself for it, the ire was difficult to control.

"You really don't think there's anything there at all? _Really_ -?" Calm down, Dem. Calm down. This isn't the way to do it. You were supposed to be more careful. _What's the matter with you_? Zexion shifted uncomfortably, pushing away from the couch to pace across the short expanse of open floor in the miniscule apartment, arms locking over his chest like a vise, hair swung down into his face as if a shield against Demyx's attack. But he didn't _mean_ to be attacking! This wasn't what he wanted at all! "I'm sorry!" He yelped quickly, leaping to his feet too and trying to intercept Zexion before a turn, not daring to quite touch him but wanting to, _wanting to_. He wanted to wrap his arms around him and hold on tight until nothing felt too close or too frightening ever again.

Zexion halted abruptly, a few paces away, frowning at the floor. Demyx put his hands out disarmingly, breathing deep to clear the panic from his mind.

"I'm sorry. Can we… can we just talk about this?" Zexion wouldn't look at him. Demyx's chest burned uncomfortably.

"…What would you like me to say?" He asked after a tense, far too long silence.

"Just the truth." Demyx insisted, voice much gentler now, to his immense relief. "I have feelings for you, a nice kind. But I know that's hard for you. I just want to understand."

"The truth…" Zexion began, setting his jaw and raising his chin in something like an echo of the pompous superiority he exuded when educating someone ignorant on an easy topic, "Is that I do not do or feel things like that at all." His voice was measured, carefully enunciated, as if speaking slowly so an ignoramus might understand, but Demyx saw the slightest tremor in his thinner frame, combined with the harsh body language to suggest he was much less calm and sensible than he'd like to seem. Demyx's chest ached, and his heart lurched.

"Is that the truth, though?" Zexion scowled at the question, narrowed eyes glinting dangerously from behind a thick curtain of hair. Demyx didn't fear it though. He felt like he was at the park suddenly, tempting a malnourished stray cat with a bit of food. The way cats in bad places do, the way you can see them longing for that slice of baloney but the world has been too unkind to them for too long, for them to see the offering as sincere.

"It _is_." But if it was, they wouldn't be here at all, would they? If it really was only skin deep, Demyx should have faded from Zexion's life a while ago. He should have grown bored of the musician by now- he _wasn't_ special. So why then? What else could possibly explain the continued connection? Demyx wasn't good looking, or abnormally good in bed or even, for that matter, particularly mentally stimulating. He was soft and weak, and he cared too much about everything and didn't do a good enough job at pretending he didn't. He… loved too soon. Old habits die hard.

If not for Zexion's reaction, if not for his undeniable alarm at the direction this conversation had taken, Demyx might have turned tail and run at this very moment. He might have fled (and it was certainly a most cowardly skill) right then and there. But he didn't. Because he didn't want to. They weren't finished. Not if he could help it.

"When was the last time you were with someone other than me?" Demyx pressed seriously, eyes boring into what could be made out of his. Zexion bristled, thin eyebrows furrowing.

"What are you insinuating?"

"I think you know." Demyx answered, still as calm as could be. It ached really, now that he could see it- now that he could really _see_ Zexion… maybe for the first time. The awful things he did to himself… but why? Not that Demyx was rightly able to talk, fairly. He did too many of the same things himself. They were all running away from something. Everyone's fighting a battle on their own. Zexion's fists clenched but the angrier he grew, the more sure Demyx felt. This was right. "I think you feel it too. Don't you? For me-?"

His breath caught, shuddered, and when his voice came out again after a long pause, it was sharp, ice filed to a deadly point, and he was no longer even trying to meet the blond's gaze at all. "I think you should leave."

"H-huh?"

"Get out."

"Wait- no, please," Demyx pleaded, panic rising up into his throat once more. "Don't do this- it doesn't have to _be_ like this…" Zexion breezed past him, toward the door, wrenching it open and holding it for him, face like a hurricane but body almost- so subtly- hunched and braced for an attack. Demyx gaped, heart beginning to snap at the seams, and didn't move a muscle. "Who _did_ this to you?" He asked before he could help himself. It was a question he hadn't even realized he wanted an answer to, but once it was out it seemed painfully obvious. No one became this way just because. No one. Tears prickled in greenish eyes, blurring his vision- though not too much to catch the stony look on Zexion's face, or the way his knuckles turned white around the doorknob.

"Demyx, _please leave_."

Demyx didn't want to. God knew the last thing Demyx wanted was to leave Zexion behind to fester and shake… but he realized, with a sensation like a broken egg slipping slimy down the back of his neck, that he had done damage and it could not be repaired with him here. At least not for now. At least not yet. He scrambled for his coat but didn't bother to so much as put it on, toing into his sneakers and trying not to sniff audibly.

Zexion looked white as a ghost, hard as a marble statue, and just as cold. Demyx hesitated at his side, half in the doorway, fighting every nerve within him which urged him simultaneously to pull Zexion into a tight hug, or to run away from this place and never come back.

"I didn't mean to hurt you…" He insisted in a desperate whisper. "You just can't _do_ this to yourself. You deserve better than… than whatever somebody made you think you did." Not expecting an answer, he took his cue to leave, and tried hard not to cry before he'd exited the tidy building. He _really_ tried.

0.o.0.o.0

Zexion wouldn't speak to him.

That was a _slight_ understatement.

Actually, Demyx found upon stepping cautiously into _No Name_ the following Friday as had become his routine months previously, Zexion was very nearly actively avoiding him. He'd hoped to talk again, with clear heads and calmer hearts, but the scholar clearly had other ideas. Demyx hovered a few feet from their usual booth, wincing when Zexion's eyes landed on him. He flinched altogether when the older man slammed his paperback closed and slid out of his seat, breezing past Demyx, down the stairs, and straight out of the club into the night- Axel staring with an open mouth in his wake. He made no excuses. He bothered with no pleasantries. He merely removed himself from the scene with the speed of sinner running from the devil himself.

After a week of this, of Demyx making himself available but not pushing, only to have Zexion coldly ignore him or abandon the scene altogether, Demyx was beginning to _feel_ like the devil. Or at the very least, like he'd released him out into the world. Guilt gnawed at his insides, overtaking his heart at long last, and he met it by keeping his head down, by trying to hold a smile on his face, and by fighting to retain something resembling normalcy in the wake of what could only be described as a disaster of nightmarish proportions.

Still, nothing seemed intent to change. Zexion remained distant and chilly, aside from when he was taking home a prospective new squeeze- _trying to prove something?_ Demyx thought bitterly- and Demyx tried to remain cheery but not-too-close, giving the older man the space he doubtlessly wanted. All the while, he wondered what the right thing was. Should he give him this space? Should he face him properly once more? Should he have even called Zexion's bluff to begin with? Maybe he needed it to feel safe, and maybe Demyx had no right to take that from him… even if it was for a good cause.

But was it, really? Was it for a good cause? Demyx did it, at least in part, because of his ever-growing feelings towards Zexion. Even if he knew he would give anything he had, _everything_ if that's what it took, to make him happy, to make it work… was it a selfish move? These were questions he could ask himself time and time again, and never find the answer. Yet, ask he did.

It seemed that Axel's quietly-tolerating-bullshit meter could handle approximately two and a half weeks of this sort of thing before the inevitable overheating and meltdown. Demyx would have appreciated a warning of this, but maybe he didn't deserve one.

As it was, he found himself about that length of time later, dragged bodily from the dancefloor and out into a dingy back alley. Once there, Axel shoved him into the wall hard enough to jar his shoulders, back of the head no doubt bruised from bouncing unceremoniously off of the rough brick. Demyx's cry died in his throat when bony hands gripped his arms roughly, the taller man leaning down over him until their breath mingled, teeth bared and eyes burning. Demyx had the sudden, panicked and peculiar thought that if hell were a person, it would look exactly like this.

"Alright you stupid little fucker- _what did you do_?"

"H-huh?" Demyx squeaked dumbly, shifting what little bit he could under the painful grip, pulse racing and breath already coming in short, unhelpful gasps. He'd never found Axel so terrifying. He'd never looked at him and been reminded of the larger, stronger boys at school in his teens- shouldering him into walls, cornering him in locker rooms, half-drowning him in toilet water. Never. Not until now. He stared with wide eyes, shock written through every fiber of his being so deeply he could feel the ridges of it carving itself into his bones.

" _Zexion_." Axel clarified impatiently, giving Demyx a little shake and caring none for the way the blond's head bounced from the wall again. "He's been pissy for weeks, and I'm betting it has something to do with _you_. You even _look_ guilty. So I'm gonna ask you _one time_ , and I swear to god if I don't get a straight answer I'll be leaving you behind a dumpster. What. Did. You. Do?"

Demyx's breath caught in his chest, and for a mortifying moment he couldn't find his voice at all. Some distant part of him was hurt that Axel, who he considered a close friend, would not only be willing to drop him like a bad habit, but leave him behind a dumpster in some alleyway, without even stopping to consider that Demyx might not be entirely at fault. He was, probably- but that wasn't the point. It hurt, but something else in Demyx knew not to be too surprised. People did things like this, when they were very angry or very scared. He knew it too well. The shock of it, still, more than anything, kept him quiet.

His hesitation must have been too long for the redhead's taste, for a moment later he huffed a furious breath that smelled like smoke, and added, "I've been looking after that little bastard since he was _thirteen years old_ \- I've never seen him like this. So spill it." Demyx gasped in a shaking breath and nodded.

"I-I…" He stumbled over himself, unable to get words out as quickly as his screaming sense of self-preservation was insisting. "I screwed up! I-I said something stupid."

"Pfft, yeah, like you don't say something stupid every other day." He spat meanly. "You've got to do _better_ than that, kid." Demyx faltered, gaze darting all around the abandoned alley, seeing bits of litter and smudges of dirt among the dumpster and fire escape doors from the buildings on either side of it, but not really taking anything in. Axel shook him again and blue-green eyes snapped back to acidy ones, still staring like he might set something ablaze. Demyx shuddered violently, feeling the beginnings of tears collect as a lump in his throat.

"I told him I had feelings for him!" He managed to get out after a moment, in a panicked shout which seemed to even startle Axel away from his threatening position- if only slightly. The silence that followed was heavy, and Demyx dropped his gaze to the chains bunched at Axel's collarbone, staring at them because he couldn't bring himself to look his friend in the face. "…And he's trying to pretend that he doesn't feel anything," He added after a while, much quieter, "And I wouldn't let him." Axel was silent for a long time, eerily long, long enough that Demyx began to lose track of time. Had it been moments? An hour? They seemed frozen, alongside the half-melted ice collecting in lumps here and there on the pavement. Along with the whole world, it seemed.

Finally, _finally_ , Axel's grip loosened on Demyx's aching arms and he stepped back, so slowly, to give the blond the room to breathe. He raked both hands through his wild hair and muttered through a scowl, " _Goddamn_ , Demyx. Why can't you just leave a thing the hell alone?" His voice was still sharp, still angry, but at least it wasn't an outright snarl anymore. Demyx's shaking hands rubbed at his upper arms weakly.

"Because it isn't good for him." He murmured to the pavement, flinching at the heaving sigh he received in reply.

"He's fine! Or he _was_ , before you went poking and prodding at shit you shouldn't've." Demyx wasn't sure anymore if Axel might still beat him up, but as the adrenaline faded it left him just feeling tired, almost resigned. He merely shook his head. Was Axel trying to cover for him, or did he not see it? Demyx couldn't imagine knowing someone for more than a decade and not at least guessing towards something as blaring as this. He didn't think it was all in his head. He'd gone over this time and time again in his brain, and had come to the conclusion that he wasn't wrong. If he went back on that now, then… who would he even be? After a while, feeling a sense of certainly build slowly within him- not overtaking the fear, but settling alongside it- he managed to meet Axel's gaze steadily. He was still shaking, but whether from dread or the late winter chill he would leave the other man to guess.

"Okay." He said simply once he was sure he could do it steadily. "Like you said, you've known him a long time. So, look. If you can look me in the eyes… and tell me that you _really_ think he's fine, that there's _nothing_ wrong and I just made it all up… then I'll drop it and never pick it up again. If you're _sure_." He squared his shoulders and stared then, as intently as he could find within himself to do.

Axel looked taken aback, blinking at the blond's sudden change in posture and tone. Demyx didn't waver though, and as the tense seconds passed by, eyes locked unblinkingly on one another, he could see the ire begin to dissipate out of Axel's gaze. Replaced with a reserved defeat, and maybe a little respect, he broke the contact at last, turning his back to Demyx and rubbing his face tiredly. An impressive string of curses fell from his lips, savagely, but when he turned to face Demyx again, he was no longer scowling.

"Fine." He relented at last, bony shoulders slumping a little. Demyx offered him a sheepish smile, still intimidated though he'd won. "So what're you gonna do?" At that, Demyx shifted off of the wall, rubbed at the growing knot at the back of his head with a palm, and chuckled nervously. Axel quirked the pierced eyebrow at him, fully grown back by now. He merely shrugged.

"I'll tell you something though," He offered instead. "If it doesn't work out… if I can't make it right- I promise faithfully to tell him you threatened to kill me, and that I just wouldn't listen." Axel barked a laugh, hands moving to his hips, and shook his head. Demyx smiled weakly, still feeling skittish though it seemed the danger of assault had passed.

"Fuck it- just don't break him." He turned back towards the club's fire escape door. Demyx hesitated, but in the end followed.

"Trust me, that's the _last_ thing I want to do."

0.o.0.o.0

"Do you remember why we always go to _Seventh Heaven_? I'll remind you: It's because Tifa's like the _only one_ who believes I'm of age, dummy."

"Don't worry about it." Demyx insisted, waving the skeptical Sora and his half-brother off of the underground and onto the streets in downtown. "I know the weekend bouncer- he'll trust me." He bounced on the balls of his feet as they walked, jittery and filled to the brim with anxious energy he just couldn't seem to expunge. It had been like this ever since he and Axel came to a sort of… grudging and uncomfortable agreement. It was up to Demyx to put this right. In the wake of the frightening conversation, the soul-consuming depression had waned, if only slightly, to be replaced by an almost desperate determination. He could make this right. He just… had to be very, very patient, and not do anything stupid or rash. Right now it was a waiting game, pure and simple.

Roxas watched him, hands stuffed in pockets as he walked between him and Sora, looking a bit like he was trying to decide if the taller blond needed a paper bag to breathe into or a good swat to the head- reconnect some faulty wires.

"Uh… you okay there?" He asked uncertainly, raising an eyebrow when his friend jumped and had a short fit of nervous giggles.

"Oh, I'm fine- I'm fine!"

"Really? 'Cause you look kind of… freaked out." He observed skeptically. "Seriously, if this guy is bothering you that badly, why don't you just let it go? What he's been doing sounds pretty douche-y to me, anyway."

"'S fine." Demyx insisted, pausing on the corner to turn and face the others, smiling. "It's just like Pat always said: if his heart surrenders, he'll need me to hold. Besides, I started this. So I've got to see it through." Sora blinked, perplexed, but Roxas' gaze wandered up to the nearly-black sky, considering.

"Pat… Benatar?" He guessed.

"That's the one!" Demyx grinned, but Roxas made a face of absolute disdain.

"Oh _god_ , you're rubbing off on me. I have _pop music_ knowledge." A visible shudder ripped up his whole body. "I'll never feel clean again."

"A couple of loud renditions of _Let the Bodies Hit the Floor_ when we get back tonight will probably restore your sense of masculinity." Sora said wisely, patting his brother's shoulder in solidarity. Demyx rolled his eyes and turned to lead the way, around the corner and towards the black and white glowing sign near the middle of the block. Funny, he felt just a little bit calmer.

"It's not pop, anyway." He corrected in an afterthought. "She's one of the great goddesses of rock-and-roll. Get your genres straight." Roxas huffed but dared not to argue with the musical-arts student, probably for the better for his mental health. Demyx moved up in line easily, being a familiar face around here by now, but the hulking giant of a bouncer checked over Roxas and Sora's identifications dubiously.

"I'd be willing to swear on my soul it's not fake." Sora said tiredly. The man's chiseled face shifted, one bushy eyebrow quirking towards his curled hairline. Demyx threaded his fingers together over his chest as if in church.

"I would never lie to you, Lex- please?" He pleaded up at him. Lex's pale gaze darted between the strangers and the regular, before heaving a sigh and handing the licenses back.

"Fine." He thundered at last, shifting to one side to let them through.

"Thank you, _thank you_!" Demyx cried exuberantly, moving with such haste that he stumbled over the very first stair and almost took a tumble down into the basement dancehall.

"They _always_ look at me- like I'm some kind of jailbait!" Sora complained under his breath as they descended the staircase at Demyx's heels, gazes wandering over the multicolored lights and well-dressed strangers.

"Well, I mean…" Roxas couldn't resist the urge to snicker. "Riku is kinda weird about it- ouch!" He rubbed his smarting head, shooting Sora an icy glare, to which the brunet behind him stuck out his tongue childishly. Just as he was looking up again, a large mass of something black and scarlet darted off of the dancefloor and collided with his musician friend, making him yelp and laugh.

"There you are! Thought you'd wimped out, Demmy!" Axel yelled over the roar of some irritatingly catchy dance song from the summer. His sharp black-lined eyes strayed from the blond he had in something like a headlock, towards the shorter men standing just behind him- one uncertain, the other curious. "And friends!" He added, half laughing. Demyx twisted himself out of his grip, tried to resuscitate his ruined gelled hairstyle, and was glad the lights on this side were a little less likely to show the flush. He was still a little jumpy after their conversation in the alleyway.

"Yeah, uh- Sora, and Roxas." He gestured to them each in turn, and then to the black-clad man at his side. "And Axel."

"Wow- you guys aren't imaginary after all!" Axel exclaimed, grinning in that sharp way that seemed to deter some people. He turned it on Demyx, looking a little sinister. "So you _really_ _do_ have other friends."

"Believe me, we're just as surprised as you are." Roxas replied, smirking.

"Well, bless you- because I have some _serious_ celebrating to get to, and since Zexy's still being a little bitch it's good to have more hands on deck. Buying shots in rounds of only two make you look like the Lousy Single Loser's Club."

"Are you a lousy single loser?" Roxas asked quickly, Sora watching his profile and then rolling his eyes. Demyx tried hard not to grin. _Here we go_.

"Not anymore!" Axel answered without skipping a beat. "For I have more than one sorry sucker to drink under the table tonight." He led the way to the bar, Demyx shooting an encouraging grin over his shoulder before following. The dancefloor was pretty packed, so they got separated somewhere between another college girl's birthday party and the frat boys desperate for the girls' attention, but reemerged more or less unscathed by the backlit bar.

"So it really went through, huh?" Demyx asked once they made it there, Axel having already ordered a round of things from his coworker.

"That's right, baby." He cooed proudly. "You are looking at the fucking _manager_." He lifted his hands, reminding Demyx peculiarly of a gymnast. He resisted the powerful urge to applaud.

"That's awesome!" Sora piped up, seeming to have- just that quickly- loosened up and relaxed. His ever-present friendly grin was well in place and not the least bit forced. Demyx envied him sometimes, how effortlessly natural he could be in large groups of people. "Dem's told us about how long you've wanted a raise." Axel sent him a wink.

"That's right- I can finally afford to evict my bastard roommate."

"What'll you do with the extra room?"

Axel shrugged, snatching up their round tray of shots and leading the way towards the raised seating area, hand up expertly to avoid spillage by pedestrian. The others followed, though Demyx felt a little strange sliding into the usual back booth with two extra bodies, and missing its usual core-occupant. If Axel noticed it on his face, he didn't let on, merely sidled in at Sora's side and considered the question, fingertip pressing to his lips as he thought.

"Mm… I think I'll start a teddy bear collection."

Roxas choked. Demyx had a fit of snickers.

"Why do I get the feeling 'teddy bear' is a code word for something else-?" The younger blond asked once he had regained the ability to breathe. Axel turned his shocking eyes on his, leaning forward over the table, and all but purred,

"Because, dear little Roxie, it _is_."

It was Sora's turn to choke, and Demyx's to shift the conversation away from things… quite like that- at least for now. Delighted as he was by the idea of watching Roxas and Axel fight it out- or make friends, as was looking more likely at the moment- it would be best for his poor younger friends to be protected from the whiplash that was getting used to Axel. At least a little bit at first.

"You've got me for one shot, Ax." He informed him seriously, long finger extended over the table to represent the number. "Just the one."

"Awweh, why?" Axel whined immediately. Immune, due to his many learn-from-observing opportunities via Zexion, Demyx only smiled and shrugged.

"I've got to be coherent to get these guys home." He explained simply. "And I have a composition to write tomorrow."

"Ooh, I hope it's a squishy love song." Axel teased, appeased by the explanation and washing away the disappointment like wet paint off his fingers. He distributed the little glass cups and slices of lime across the table. Sora looked at it wearily, as did Demyx, but Roxas' blue eyes were hard and steady- ready for the challenge. They took their shots, a lot of hands banging on tables and choking and grimacing, dropping the cups lips-down back onto their tray. Axel let out a loud laugh as Sora shuddered and gagged.

"That was _horrible_ …"

"That was a grown-up drink." Axel corrected.

"I don't deny that." Roxas agreed, leaning his elbows on the table. Axel stared at him, and he stared back.

"Hm…" The redhead's eyes narrowed, pinning the blond under his gaze. Roxas however, unlike Demyx, met it with a cold certainty. Fearless. "What's better? Tequila or vodka?"

"Neither. Rum."

"Sex on the beach?"

"Both a girl's drink and horrible idea- all that _chafing_." A slow grin spread across Axel's face at the answer. Sora leaned back, wiping at his still-watering eyes, and shot Demyx a puzzled look. Demyx met it with a shrug, smiling.

"Music?"

"I'm not a zealot like Dem, but I like hard rock, and some other stuff I guess. You-?" He was smirking now, keeping up with Axel's sharp grin like no one Demyx had ever seen, except maybe Zexion. Axel seemed surprised to have the interrogation turned back his way, but his eyes glimmered with interest.

"Classic rock- and the emo stuff too, and I'm not ashamed."

Roxas hummed and gave a little half shrug of approval, and they continued this way for a while. Demyx and Sora floated on and off the dancefloor a little, but Demyx's heart wasn't really in it. His eyes kept straying to the door. Zexion usually showed up, even now, and this was the day of Axel's long-awaited promotion. He would want to congratulate him and take the opportunity to poke some fun at the same time, wouldn't he? Even now?

Demyx could only pray that he hadn't screwed that up, too.

The hopes were answered sometime later, when Sora returned with an order of fries, someone unexpected not far behind him. He slid back into the booth beside Axel obliviously, already chewing, while his brother continued to talk adamantly to the off-duty bartender. Demyx's eyes were on his hands, pressing fingers to imaginary piano keys as his mind wandered, ever into dark places lately. It was Axel who noticed him first.

"Oh, shit!" He startled, making all others at the table jump, and his oldest friend frown. Demyx spun on his seat, wide eyes landing on a familiar heart-shaped face and sticking there. Zexion looked tired and tense, shadows under his eyes and the frown set deeply into his mouth, both details visible even in this mottled light. With all eyes on him, he raised his chin just slightly, focusing on Axel's face, and spoke.

"Axel. I came to congratulate you. I'm sure kicking Xaldin to the curb will improve your whole neighborhood." At least he was still capable of sass, and his voice was as much like polished ice as ever. Axel cackled and easily responded, but Demyx wasn't really listening anymore. His heart had plummeted to his stomach. Being so close to Zexion but feeling so much distance between them was… getting harder all the time. A conversation in relatively light terms was held, back and forth. Input from Sora, something snarky from Roxas at Demyx's right. Axel's laughter. Demyx barely registered any of it.

Was he the only one completely and utterly struck by all those cracks in Zexion's façade? Was he the only one who could see them-? That shouldn't be possible…

But then indigo eyes met with his and Demyx was sure his heart had stopped entirely.

Silence took them. The bass and melody of the music on the floor resounded around them, but seemed muted somehow. It was as if a force field of perfect stillness had erected itself around their table. Zexion stared, and Demyx stared right back. Even Axel refrained from interrupting them. Finally, just as Demyx was sure he'd never breathe again, and that he had died here, died and gone to some cruel purgatory where he would forever wait on heaven's judgement, Zexion spoke.

"…Excuse us." Lightning fast, a thin hand was gripping Demyx by the collar of his shirt, tugging him forcefully from the booth and away. Demyx yelped and stumbled after him. He heard Sora shout, but no one followed. He tripped on the staircase up and out of _No Name_ , almost smacked his lip on the railing, but managed to right himself in time- and good thing too, because Zexion seemed intent on neither slowing down, nor glancing behind him. They passed the bouncer, who looked passively surprised, around the side of the building and into a relatively well-lit, but mostly out of sight mouth of an alley.

Zexion released Demyx at last and stood, breathing hard under the yellowish streetlights, half-facing Demyx but still not looking at him. The blond stood straight, breaths a little labored too (from the panic or all that not-breathing a moment ago, he couldn't say), and tidied his shirt. He tugged the sleeves closer around him, already missing the jacket he'd left inside. The long Hollow Bastion winter was nearing its end now, but that didn't mean temperatures got anywhere near spring-warm at night.

He waited. Zexion remained stock-still, a spectral figure in a grey coat, like a statue in the park representing some kind of ordinary person just like you- except they had done something statue-worthy. Even the ever-present winds off of the lake seemed stilled here, blocked maybe by the set of the buildings around them, but eerie to Demyx nonetheless. It was as if all of the world had taken in a deep breath, holding it now in wait just as Demyx was, for what the other man would do next.

But he did nothing. Moments passed by and Demyx shifted uneasily, fright fading slowly, as time ticked away. It began to seep into frustration instead, irritation, even. When it seemed as though Zexion would never speak, never move again, Demyx rubbed his face with chilled hands and shook his head.

"This isn't fair Zex." He muttered against his palms, realizing only then just how _exhausted_ this whole fiasco had made him. So drained. Like spending too much time around too many people, only sleep hadn't seemed to make it any better. He turned his gaze back on the shorter man, whose fists had clenched at his voice. He thought for a moment that maybe he shouldn't speak again- shouldn't do anything rash- but his self-control was waning and his irritation was growing by the second. He frowned. "You can't just ignore me for weeks, and then kidnap me out into the night just to- to give me the cold shoulder one-on-one. That's not _fair_."

Zexion said nothing, crossed his arms over his chest. Demyx sighed. The _last_ thing he wanted was to give up and walk away… but he couldn't carry the full weight. He couldn't do this alone. It took two, and if Zexion couldn't do it- or didn't want to- Demyx simply couldn't help it. Maybe you can't fix a relationship that doesn't exist. He thought, with a twinge of pain, that he finally understood that slow piano song and the man who wrote it both. There was an agony like no other, in the moment where you've waited for the hand to extend back towards you, to have permission to be _the one_ , but you're finally beginning to realize that maybe… it was never coming.

His throat felt tight, eyes screwed closed firmly, and was just turning on his heels when he heard it.

"My mother."

Demyx stopped, froze, eyes snapping wide open and staring at the nighttime dark around him, as his mind whirred and struggled to process. That… had he really just heard…? Or was it his imagination? Voice thick, movements unsteady, Demyx turned again, facing Zexion.

"What-?" He asked.

The other man had shifted too, towards Demyx properly, eyes wide and lips parted, one hand still half-up as if he'd been reaching after him. As if, Demyx realized with a start, he'd been about to keep him from walking away. When their eyes met the hand dropped limply to his side, and the scholar's lips moved soundlessly for a few seconds. Brow furrowing, he had to drop his gaze and cross his arms back tightly over his chest, in order to force the words out.

"You wanted to know, who… that is, where I got…" He faltered not once, but twice. Demyx watched in awe. This was a side to the other man he'd never seen. He couldn't even be sure, at that moment, that he'd ever so much as glimpsed it before. "My mother could be… very harsh." He admitted at last. Realizing just what this was, what this _meant_ , Demyx softened at once. He shook his head and took a half-step closer, not quite touching- but almost.

"Was it bad?" He asked in a whisper. Even in this lighting, he could see Zexion's throat constrict as he swallowed. He nodded.

"In ways I… do not discuss."

Demyx licked his lips, searched what he could make out of Zexion's face through his ever-present curtain of hair… and nodded too. The pain in his chest was of a different kind now, a _very_ different kind. He reached slowly- carefully- forward, and brushed the silken soft hair away from Zexion's face. The full view of it broke his heart. There was this man, so intelligent, so likeable, so warm when he thought you wouldn't remember, or when he couldn't help it… and here he was, head bowed in the unmistakable curve of shame, lips pursed against secrets he'd carried alone for- who knew how long? Here he was, small, but open. Open as best he could at least, for the first time. Demyx nodded again when their gazes met, and offered Zexion the smallest, saddest smile.

"I'm sorry I bullied you." He said sincerely, searching Zexion's face as he did. "It was a nasty thing to do. I should've known it wasn't something small. Guess the idiot strikes again." It was almost a joke, but there was no humor in it. "You don't have to talk about it, if you don't want to." Zexion considered this, nodded a little, and after a while, seemed able to offer Demyx a small smile in return.

"I think I can forgive you," He offered slowly, holding Demyx's gaze with a warmth unshrouded by the shadows in his mind bleeding through into his irises for the very first time. "On one condition."

"Anything." Demyx said without thinking, startling himself but… he felt no urge to take it back. The reflex was sincere, after all. Why fight it? Zexion ran trembling fingers through his hair, tidying the work Demyx had done a bit, and pinned the blond down in a firm, steady stare a moment later. It was as if he was weighing and measuring him again, like that first night, only… different. There was something else behind it, but Demyx had no idea what it was. He faltered, shrinking back just a little, nervousness rising to leap and twist in his stomach.

" _Never_ ," Zexion demanded, his voice low but firm and absolutely final, "Call yourself an idiot in front of me, again."

Demyx couldn't help it. He laughed. Of all the things he might expect Zexion to ask for, never- not in his wildest dreams- would he ever have expected him to say that. No one ever said that. No one ever… Demyx laughed again, wetly, and pulled Zexion in for the hug he'd wanted many times before, tight but tender. He felt the older man's warmth, inhaled lavender, and laughed once more. His eyes were misty with emotion he couldn't control, couldn't even quite name, but it definitely wasn't the black hole of before. Like every time he spiraled down onto the bottom of that well, eventually there'd be pinprick of sunlight again. This… those words from Zexion and what they had to mean… this wasn't a pinprick of light. It was a ladder.

0.o.0.o.0

Sometime between the hug and the moment they realized they were both crying and shivering from cold, they had laughed at their foolishness and forgiven woes. Not too many words were spoken, but enough to mend the fences and tie in the very first tender sutures on a pair of battered hearts.

Sometime between the moment Demyx's laughter turned half-hysterical, into that strange cry-giggle thing he did sometimes which had always made other people nervous, and the moment they were warming their hands over the heater against Zexion's living room wall, an agreement not to face the public looking the way they each did had been solidly made. They'd walked instead, up the streets and then staircases, into Zexion's apartment. He apologized, for not giving Demyx time to put on his coat. Demyx honestly didn't care.

Sometime between the first cup of sweetened coffee touching Demyx's hands, ceramic warming skin and aroma feeling like home, and the moment Roxas called his cell for the fifth time, Demyx had tasted coffee on Zexion's lips, and felt the rough patches there from nervous nibbles, touched soft hair again and leaned in close. Zexion had admitted in a whisper, half against Demyx's mouth, that he really didn't know how these things worked. Demyx chuckled, but not at his expense.

"Don't worry about it. It's not really _that_ different from what we were doing anyway." That was funny. Maybe he was tired. Maybe he was giddy, but it occurred to him that all this stress and pain had been to… not to change anything, but to allow it a possibility to remain the same. Or maybe… a possibility to grow. Call him crazy, but that was pretty funny.

Demyx's cellphone whirred and vibrated in his pocket yet again. He sighed but pulled out of Zexion's embrace, pressing the green button and putting the receiver up to his ear.

" _If you two are having saucy make-up sex instead of congratulating me on my promotion, I'll be_ _ **very**_ _upset!"_ Axel shouted into Demyx's ear, over the muted roar of music and voices. He echoed a little… maybe he'd gone into the bathroom expecting greater quiet.

"Eh- what?" Demyx squeaked, face flooding with embarrassed color. He should have asked Axel what he was doing with Roxas' phone, or why they had called so many times, but his mind went completely blank at the… very blunt accusation. Zexion, having been able to hear do to the volume of the exchange, rolled his eyes and plucked the phone from Demyx's hand.

"For god's sake, Axel. Can't two men have a perfectly _non-sexual_ cup of late-night coffee in _peace_?" Demyx could make out laughter on the other end, and a great deal of shuffling sounds (at which Zexion held the receiver away from his ear impatiently), before muttering, "Glad I'm back-? I didn't go anywhere…" A less enthusiastic voice buzzed through the line a moment later. Zexion hummed, nodded slightly, and passed the phone back towards Demyx.

"Your friend threatened to keep my testicles in a vise on his desk." He explained frankly. Demyx grimaced but had to laugh.

"Heh, well… yours threatened to beat me up and leave me behind a dumpster, so I guess we're even?"

" _He did what-?"_ It was Roxas' voice in Demyx's ear. The older blond just snorted, returning Zexion's withering look with a wink- as if to say, _don't worry about that_ \- and paced into the kitchen, poking at the resting coffeemaker.

"Yeah, you and he have the same hobbies. You're made for each other." He said simply. "Sorry I bailed. I forgot." Demyx heard a whoosh of air as Roxas sighed.

" _It's fine. So long as you're fine… and you don't do it again."_

"I won't make a habit of it- promise!"

" _Mmhmm."_ Roxas didn't sound the least bit convinced. _"Yeah, well you're lucky Axel's the amusing kind of insane, or I'd be forced to punch you out."_ Demyx chuckled. In Roxas-speak, that was practically a declaration of undying love… and the musician couldn't help but feel a little bit smug about that. He _knew_ it.

"You kids have fun!" He offered lightly. Roxas snorted.

" _That's_ _ **my**_ _line, dumb. Use contraception now! And call Sora tomorrow. He'll be hungover as all hell but he's worried about you. Tootles!"_ The connection went dead before Demyx had a chance to retort. He set the receiver down on the counter and rubbed his eyes, shaking his head.

"So… that was Roxas." He quipped. Zexion chuckled, sounding sheepish.

"I'm afraid he doesn't like me very much." Demyx waved a hand dismissively.

"That's his default setting. He'll get over it."

Zexion crossed the space between them, reaching with a hesitation that had never been there before. He was all sincerity now. No scheme, no character, no protective shell. It left him seeming subdued, almost shy, and Demyx felt shy too. He reached back just as slowly, catching Zexion's hand in his and lacing his fingers between those paler ones. He'd wondered for a while what it might feel like, soft and cool against his callouses and tan. He smiled. It felt nice. It felt… right.

Zexion smiled too, though more weakly. "I don't know about you," He admitted, eyes on the joined hands between them, "But I'm rather exhausted."

"All the drama wipes you right out." Demyx agreed, flexing his fingers in a fond squeeze. Zexion was wavering, red about the ears, and Demyx wasn't sure why, but… he was pretty certain he found it adorable. "Everything okay?" Zexion nodded, shook his head, and then let out a little breath that might have been a laugh.

"A little overwhelmed." He admitted. "And… if you… don't want to make the trip home tonight… you don't have to." His eyes met Demyx's, uncertain. Demyx felt something inside of him melt. He'd be all liquid in there soon, at this rate.

"Just for sleeping?" The older man nodded.

"If… if you'd like to?"

"I'd like that!" Demyx wouldn't have been able to keep from smiling if he tried. "Would you?" Zexion licked his lips, eyes searching Demyx's intently.

"I think I would."

0.o.0.o.0

It would be a tight fit. Only half-unpacked, but already the new bookshelf in the corner of the living room was filled to the bursting point with books and movies and knickknacks. The one in the bedroom was no better. Cardboard boxes lined the floor under the open window, letting in the first cooling breeze off of the lake at the end of a sweltering summer. The curtains had been pushed away the night before and left that way, the windows in here and the bedroom alike propped open with scraps of wood, infusing the tiny apartment with fresh air. Or as fresh as city air ever got, anyway. Better here than in the west end by leaps and bounds, all agreed.

The Zombie sat silent sentinel beside the door to the community hallway, its replacement found in Demyx's little set, which was already hooked up on the stand against the wall. Beside it sat a stereo, which was this morning tuned to the radio and playing softly. Books with nowhere to go were stacked for now in corners, beside instrument cases of varied shapes and sizes. Golden light stretched across clean wooden floors and the purple rug as Demyx stood in the kitchen side of the room holding a spatula.

He was wearing little- the air conditioning unit had croaked some weeks before and the landlord showed little drive to replace it- and swinging his hips in time to a song he liked. He flipped a pancake, watched it sizzle, and sang along. The day was sunny, so by midafternoon it would likely be pretty warm in here again, but for now it was comfortable- almost a little chilly. The idea made Demyx smile, which widened into a grin when he heard the bedroom door open from behind him.

"Good morning, sunshine!" He called cheerily over his shoulder, sliding golden pancakes off of the pan and onto the existing pile upon a plate. Zexion hummed sleepily, rubbing his eyes with his fingers and drifting across the floor. He shielded his face from the bright sunlight as he passed the window, finding a place against the counter to lean.

"Sorry, I overslept." He muttered to his hands. "You should've woken me." Demyx shrugged.

"You needed it. Been up too late too much recently."

Zexion hummed again, noncommittally, watching the blond pour the last of the batter into circles on his pan. Demyx dropped the used pitcher into the sink and wiped his hands, turning to box the older man in. He stole a morning kiss then grinned at his partner's sleepy smile and bedhead.

"Hee, are those mine?" He asked, gesturing down to the only article of clothing Zexion was wearing. He looked good in blue, Demyx wouldn't deny, but the bubble-and-fish pattern on the boxers was indisputably a little kooky for sophisticated Zexion. He scraped his fingers through his hair and bent slightly at the waist, looking down.

"…Yes." He decided. Demyx felt giggles bubble up from his chest. Zexion rolled his eyes and flicked his nose, before pulling a white mug down from the cabinet and pouring himself some of the already made coffee. "I put on the first thing I touched."

"Good thing we don't keep crazy stuff lying around then." Demyx said with a sagely nod. He flipped the pancakes. Zexion looked over his shoulder curiously.

"What's the occasion?"

"Ha!" Demyx brandished his spatula like a wand, face lit up at the question. "No occasion at all! You see, my Zexy, one of the many perks of being my _lover-_ " He shifted to the side, bumping his hip into Zexion's playfully, "-Is you alone are entitled to my special morning-after pancakes. Even when it's not your birthday."

He still blushed and grumbled at being called that. At being called _Demyx's lover_. Demyx kind of hoped he always would. A gust of wind whipped in through the window a moment later, rustling paper and the curtains. Both men inhaled deeply, eyes closing in the relief that was coolness. Soft rock drifted over their senses as the song switched on the stereo. Demyx cracked his eyes open just in time to see Zexion smile, eyes still closed and hair pushed messily off of his face.

"I like this one…" He mused distractedly. Demyx liked it, too. He liked the singer's power vocals over the heavy, almost tribal drums. Her simple lyrics sung with such passion it seemed she didn't know how to speak anything but the truth. He liked the easy melody, soothing without being sleepy. He liked the way it made him want to sway on the balls of bare feet, to swing his hips and sing along. He liked how he knew why Zexion liked it- he liked words, he liked lyrics. But most of all, Demyx liked the way Zexion looked when he listened to it.

The morning sun warmed his pale face, brought out those highlights of periwinkle and silver in his hair. Touched his lips and collar, caressed loose shoulders. His eyelashes fluttered, completely unaware of his audience. Just relaxed. Almost serene. It was one of his finest looks, but Demyx would never tell.

"Dance with me." He said on a whim. Zexion's eyes blinked open, one eyebrow quirking.

"What? No," He put his hands up defensively. "I do _not_ dance." Demyx slid the finished pancakes onto the stack, flipped off the heat, and discarded his spatula to one side all at once. His hands caught Zexion's before he could escape, tugging him bodily away from the counters and into the middle of the room.

"Oh, come on- no one can see!"

" _You_ can!" Zexion insisted, perturbed, but Demyx only laughed. His fingers pressed between Zexion's, threaded together like they belonged there, while his other hand caught a sharp hip, pulling their bodies closer and coaxing the shorter man to copy his movements. He rolled his hips slowly, in time to the beat, from side to side. Zexion grumbled, flustered, but admitted defeat. "Stubborn." He chided.

"That's right! And I'm all yours. Aren't you lucky?" The blond agreed with a wink.

See, it wasn't that Zexion didn't dance, exactly. It was that he _couldn't_. The poor man had two left feet and no sense of rhythm at all. Demyx would let him keep the too-cool-for-dancing air around others, but under this roof, in this room… no. No. Here, there would be no excuses accepted. He only asked of him that he tried.

As they turned in a slow circle a now familiar sensation welled up inside of Demyx, making him tug Zexion just a little closer. He breathed more than sang the words into the scholar's ear, smiling at the shivers he could feel pass from his partner's form into his. This was the kind of thing one could only purely enjoy, just for exactly what it was. The representation of the feeling between them, solid now after months of arranging.

A feeling like this one; the kind that doesn't waver, doesn't fail. The kind which holds steady and slow-burning but not dim, illuminating even those haunting dark patches between the reflections of city lights on the lake. There were few illnesses this sensation could not remedy, and fewer still that it couldn't at least improve. Between the two of them, they would find their fair share of them, but maybe resilience comes best from those you wouldn't expect.

Their song ended and another began, but Demyx didn't release Zexion's waist, and Zexion didn't try to make him. The tempo shifted, but they followed it only distantly now, arm in arm, hand in hand, swaying. Demyx hummed and rested his head on the shorter man's shoulder, nose tucked against his neck. He breathed lavender and lake breeze. One of Zexion's hands shifted into his hair, fingertips squeezing the base of his neck gently. The pancakes were cooling and the coffee growing cold. The sun crept higher in the sky. The world would keep spinning, but they could afford to let it rush around them for just a moment more. Zexion had a paper to finish that he'd been distracted from last night. Demyx was going to be late for work.

None of that mattered.

All he wanted to do was hold this strange, curious man close to him, and _dance_. Just move their hips until they forgot they didn't share a single form, fingers knotted between fingers, breaths mingling in the early light.

Just to feel the same warmth, and breathe the same air, and dance.

0.o.0.o.0

0.o.0.o.0

Songs in Order:

"Just Dance" by Lady Gaga

"Tequila Makes her Clothes Fall Off" by Joe Nichols

"Stay with Me" by Sam Smith

"22" by Taylor Swift

"Love is a Battlefield" by Pat Benatar

"Bodies" by Drowning Pool

"Say Something" by A Great Big World

"Third Eye" by Florence + The Machine

*I make no apologies for the absolutely random songs Demyx attaches to every conceivable aspect of his life. He is my spirit animal.

*Also, if you can guess the film Demyx and Zexion are watching in that scene in the second half, you will have my kudos.


End file.
